


you’re the habit that i can’t break

by ohpleaselarry



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: 10yearsof1D, Angst, Begging, Bottom!Harry, Crying, Crying During Sex, Cuddling, Denial, Fingering, Fluff, Gay Sex, M/M, Overstimulation, Riding, Rimming, Smut, Snogging, So much angst, Top!Harry, because they kind of share that really, bottom!Louis, reunion au, so much snogging, top!Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27298996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohpleaselarry/pseuds/ohpleaselarry
Summary: The boys decide to have a belated band reunion, just the five of them. One week, one cabin in the mountains, five boys.Harry and Louis haven’t spoken sober in a year.habit - louis tomlinson (song 1 of the Larry Playlist collection)
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 199





	you’re the habit that i can’t break

**Author's Note:**

> IM BACK BITCHES!! Remember when I said I wasn’t going to write Larry again?? LMAO nah I’m back and I’m fuckin so ready to get into this collection yall have no idea. 
> 
> Basically, this fic simply started as a reunion au, and halfway through I realised that the reason I kept getting Habit stuck in my head is bc I’m basically using it as inspiration, and BAM, suddenly I’m thinking of ten other songs I want to write into fics. 
> 
> ✨So how it goes: yall give me song requests, I listen to it over and over, and I write a fic around it until we’ve got a full playlist! Obviously, the songs gotta have some sort of lyrical substance that I can interpret into a fic. It can be vague and left to me to figure it out, but this means no classical or instrumentals, if you get that? 
> 
> If you need an example, the next fic will be inspired by heather by Conan gray. A uni friends to lovers au. 
> 
> Of course, if I pick your song, I will give you credit in that fic’s note, so pls include what name you want credited, or I’ll just end up using your ao3 username. I’m really hoping this takes off bc I LOVED writing this and coming back to Larry after actual YEARS has given me so much damn inspiration I might actually drop my antidepressants lmaooo
> 
> On the flip side, I know there’s a good lot of people who want crankiplier, please don’t worry ur pretty lil heads!! I’m still writing that long ass fic and it might not be out for a Larry update or two. I haven’t lost motivation in the slightest, I am just overloaded with so many projects at once! 💚
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 💙💚
> 
> Also: for the sake of my sanity there’s no covid in this fic. I honestly just didn’t wanna write about it lol

_ ’i always said that i’d mess up eventually. i told you that, so what did you expect from me?’~ _

Harry’s nervous. 

After years in the spotlight, it takes something new and big to get him nervous these days, but this? He might as well be shaking in his boots. It’s barely November, but Michael Bublé croons through the speakers of his car about being home for Christmas. 

It’s almost ironic, because he hasn’t heard the song in quite a few years, and he knows exactly where he was last time he had. Sitting in his kitchen sipping at hot chocolate while soft lips brush over his jaw, giggling in his ear, blue eyes sparkling with that happy Christmas mood. 

He takes a breath, pressing his forehead to the steering wheel. It’s been four years since they were together in one room, and an addition year since that included Zayn. It’s funny, that they decide to do the reunion now. They’d begun planning it when they started a group text on their actual ten year anniversary back in July. A get together. A reunion with just the five of them. No cameras and nobody else. A genuine reunion. 

November was the earliest that they were all free with their busy schedules, especially for something like this. A week long stay in a cabin, fending for themselves. It reminds him of the bungalow. 

The bungalow reminds him of things he’s still trying to forget even now, so he shuts his car off and forces himself to step out into the crisp air. Shouldering his duffel bag, he looks up at the cabin. It’s more of a modern cabin than anything, at least two stories, enough rooms for each of them to bring a friend if they wanted to and still have their own beds. 

He’s nervous that they won’t get on again. He’s nervous that one fight will fuck up the whole week. More than anything, he’s nervous to see him. Louis. 

Louis, god. Just thinking his name makes his heart ache. It always has. Always. Stepping up to the front door, he can hear them before he even places a hand on the doorknob. Laughing and talking over each other loudly. It’s incoherent, but at least it doesn’t sound like a fight. 

He opens the door and closes it gently behind himself, wiping his boots on the mat, hanging his coat on the hook by the door. It’s nice and warm inside, and the foyer leads right into a huge nice den, plenty of wood and flannel decor to really give it a cabin feel. It’s quite lovely. 

He fixes the sleeve of his button up that’s unrolled, and sets his duffel on the floor next to the pile of everyone else’s, because of course nobody’s picked their rooms yet. 

He follows the noise into the huge kitchen that’s definitely designed for a much more experienced chef. Liam desperately tries to save what is clearly burning noodles. Zayn stands next to him, gesturing wildly as he tells him to quickly add more water to save them. Niall laughs from the counter, where he’s sitting and watching. Louis is tapping at his phone, giving instructions to deaf ears on how to fix it. 

Harry smiles, relief flooding through him, a sense of familiarity seeping into his bones, because it’s exactly the same. That same chaotic laughter he’d grown so accustomed to. It’s as if they never left. It’s as if nothing went wrong, nobody went solo, nobody broke off from each other. It’s just them. So different and yet so much the same. 

“Why am I not surprised you lads managed to burn  _noodles_?” He asks with a sigh, and everyone looks to him, cheering loudly and crowding in for a group hug. 

“We’d thought for sure you’d bailed!” Niall says as they jump around like actual children. It’s been a long time since they all did this. A group hug. He kind of never wants to leave. 

“Never. God, someone please turn off those noodles, there’s no saving that.” He groans, looking over all their heads to see the pot is still on high. 

Five minutes later, he’s taken over the cooking, stirring the pasta as he reads over the handwritten recipe they were trying to follow. It’s the roux they’d messed up so terribly on, and had tried to add the noodles to fix it. 

Zayn steps up next to him, clapping his shoulder. 

“Hey, man. Been a while, yeah?” He huffs a guilty laugh, but Harry isn’t one for grudges. Not much at all. Funny enough, he never really lost touch with Zayn, somehow understood where he’d come from. Not that they talk often, but he didn’t get angry or anything. Couldn’t say as much for the other boys. Besides Niall, of course, but one of them could commit murder and that man would still laugh it off with a hug and a beer. 

“You win everyone over yet?” Harry asks, looking over his shoulder to the other boys, crowded up at the island of the kitchen making plans for the week, a list of things they definitely want to do. 

“Nearly. We all sort of made up before this, but there’s some tension still. Not sure it’ll ever go away.” He laughs quietly, but looks genuinely down about it. 

“Nonsense, they’ll come around. We’ll all be reminiscing and everything will be forgotten, just give it time.” He takes a noodle when Harry offers it, tasting it with a nod of approval. 

“What about you? You make up with..everyone?” Zayn tries to be subtle, but they both know who they’re talking about. There’s only one person in this house Harry doesn’t text five times a week. Only one person that makes his stomach twist nervously just being in the same room. 

“Not quite so simple.” He murmurs sadly, lowering the heat and adding the vegetables and the thin strip steak to the pasta. 

“He’ll come around. You’re stuck in a house together for a week, he’s bound to fix it.” Zayn smiles supportingly and steps back up to the other boys, offering up his own ideas. 

Harry stirs the food, watching the sauce bubble slowly as it heats the veggies, and he doesn’t bother to have hope from Zayn’s words. There’s just some things that can’t be fixed. Just some things with too much history and too much pain. Some things that are better left empty. 

Still, it hurts to think about a perfect world where he could’ve arrived to this cabin with someone at his side. Could’ve stepped inside smiling and content. 

He touches the necklace hidden under his shirt and turns the heat off, forcing a smile as he turns and announces that dinner is ready. 

-

Bowls empty, they sit around the couch and have a chat, updating each other on anything and everything in between. They’ve all continued onto solo careers since they broke up. So much has happened since then. A few marriages. Three of them are fathers. 

That last one hurts a bit. He looks up from fiddling with his rings and sneaks one glance at him. 

Louis’ somehow prettier every time he sees him in person. He’s listening to Niall’s story about a bar fight he witnessed in Mexico recently, blue eyes crinkly at the edges like they are when he’s on the verge of laughter. His hair’s a bit longer, flitting over his forehead, ticking the bottom of his neck. It’s almost the same style he had when they’d first met. His knit jumper is a deep orange colour, scooping low in the front to show off his collarbones and a bit of his chest tattoo. 

While Harry’s staring, he finds his heart warming as it always does when he sees Louis lift his nimble fingers to brush his hair from his eye, grinning as the group laughs. The joke is lost on Harry, he’s in deep, can’t look away now that he’s let himself look. 

Like he can feel eyes on him, Louis wriggles a bit in his chair, eyes shifting to somewhere between them like he’s checking his peripherals, smile slowly fading. Harry would probably look away if he were smart. Instead, he just keeps watching as Louis pulls his jumper over his hands, and fucking  _finally_ looks at him. 

Blue meets green, and Harry watches him take a breath as he shamelessly gives him a once over. 

The last thing Louis had said to him in person was ‘I’m not coming back again’. 

Like he’s remembering it too, the elder breaks their eye contact and looks back to the other boys, fingers touching at his arm over his jumper. Does he even realise he’s touching his oops tattoo? Is he just mindlessly doing it? 

Because Harry definitely knows where that ink sits on his arm. Knows where each of his tattoos sit. Has traced every one of them with his fingers, his eyes, his tongue. On multiple occasions. Could probably draw them by memory. Then again, what about Louis doesn’t he know? What couldn’t he do by memory? 

His shoulders feel heavy with all of the memories he still carries. The ones that he knows must affect him too, even if he won’t show it. They haven’t even said hello to each other yet. 

“Right, Harry?” Liam asks, and everyone looks to him. Well, nearly. Louis looks almost at him, eyes somewhere at his chest instead, expression painfully neutral. 

“Sorry, what?” He blinks out of his head and looks to Liam, who frowns. 

“I was saying that fireworks are probably a bad idea. You alright?” 

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, my drive was hellishly long. Would it be shit if I just went ahead and turned in?” He gives a sheepish smile. It’s true, he is rather tired, but it’s a small factor to his want to leave the thick air of the room. 

“No, I think I might actually do the same.” Zayn says, stretching his arms over his head. Niall stands up, asking if the remaining boys want another drink as well. 

“Goodnight, boys. Love ya.” Harry grins at the shouting of love that he receives in return, and takes his duffle, trudging up the stairs to the second floor. He picks the furthest room in the back, and sits on the bed with crossed legs. Pulling his journal from his bag, he scribbles what’s running through his brain at that very moment, frowning as he remembers Louis looking away. As if there’s nothing he feels the need to linger for. As if nothing is there. 

The world falls away as he scribbles at the pages. 

-

He startles awake at a light tap at his door. Lifting his head, he finds that he’s fallen asleep on his journal. His hand is asleep, folded under his chin, the pen still clutched in his hand. 

“Yeah?” He calls quietly, sitting up and rubbing at his eye, glancing at the ticking clock hung on the wall above the door. It’s nearly one in the morning. 

The door doesn’t open, so Harry raises a brow and stands up from the bed, opening the door himself. 

“Hey.” Louis sighs, leaning heavily against the doorway. There’s red circles under his eyes, his cheeks pink and his ears pinker. 

“You drunk?” Harry asks, not moving to let him in. Louis pouts, folding his arms over his chest like he’s petulant. 

“What makes you think that?” He asks, slurring a bit even as he tries to seem perfectly sober. 

“Because you haven’t talked to me sober in like..a year. I’m not letting you in.” Harry says dryly, frowning at the way that makes Louis’ frown deepen, as if he actually feels bad about it or something. Now there’s a hilarious joke. 

“Jus’ wanna talk, H.” His eyes are even bluer somehow, every time this happens. Every time he shows up all sad and drunk. Harry’s not very good at turning him away. Never has been, truthfully. Even if it would be better for everyone in the end. He just can’t resist him. Can’t tell him to fuck off and shut the door in his face. 

He backs up to give Louis space enough to walk in, and watches as he steps over to the bed and sits at the edge of it. He closes the door again and stands at the foot of the bed, not daring to sit with him. 

“I’m sorry, ‘Arry. Dunno why I keep fucking—fucking, fuck.” He sighs deeply and clenches his hands into fists, then looks at him, eyes glossy. 

“We both know why, Lou. All you have to do is stop doing it. Surely you’re not too pissed to know it needs to stop.” Harry tells him. It’s nearly exactly what he said last time. Exactly what he thought but didn’t say the time before that. 

Louis stands up from the bed on shaky legs, stepping up to him. The orange jumper looks far too good on him. He hugs his own middle, looking undeniably devastated for a few long seconds, before he tips forward and presses his forehead to Harry’s chest, arms circling his middle in a hug. 

Harry exhales shakily and allows himself the hug, wrapping his arms around the man right back. It feels like it always has. Like coming home. Like everything he’s always needed and always will need. 

“I’m sorry I keep hurting you.” Louis whispers, lifting his chin to press his nose to Harry’s neck, sniffling there like he’s cold. 

“Every other time? Or tomorrow when you pretend whatever happens tonight never happened?” He relishes in this. Can never say no. 

Truthfully, despite all of the pain that follows, he can’t turn Louis away. Every minuscule touch, every glance in his direction, makes him so damn ecstatic that it’s almost worth it for how much it hurts afterwards. Just one kiss makes it worth it, every time. 

Harry’s been in love with the same person since he was sixteen, and has yet to come even close to that with anyone else. Even now. Even after everything, it’s always fucking him. Always has been and worriedly always will be. 

So even though it hurts so damn bad, he doesn’t pull away when Louis lifts his head. Doesn’t stop him when he presses their lips together gently, taste of whiskey on his tongue. Doesn’t refuse when Louis pulls him to the bed, not when he unbuttons his jeans, not when he presses his fingers into Harry in the way he knows he likes, not when he fucks him into the bed, mouths pressed together in an attempt to keep quiet. 

He savours in it all, just like every other time. Afterwards, he lets Louis spoon him, pretends to sleep.

And he doesn’t say a word when the elder sighs deeply, presses a kiss to his hair, hand lingering for quite a few minutes, before he sneaks out of the room to his own, stumbling a bit. 

When he’s alone, Harry curls in on himself, tears filling his eyes as the love seeps out of his skin and the loneliness returns. The rejection and the denial. 

He’ll be fine. The first few hours are always the worst, and then he’s fine again. As if he knows what fine means anymore. 

-

_ ’i know you said that you’d give me another chance, but you and i knew the truth of it in advance, that mentally, you were already out the door’~ _

Harry wakes up early to the sun just barely peeking over the trees, and climbs out of bed, removing his sex-scented sheets and replacing them, quietly sneaking past everyone else’s rooms and out of the cabin. 

On his run, he feels a sense of acceptance flow through him with every slap of his trainers on the shitty gravel road that twists through the mountain. He runs nonstop until he reaches the lake, and rests at the cold bench that sits at the top of the hill overlooking the water, watching the sun fully rise. 

It’s different, this time. It’s different because Louis can’t escape across town or even across the world this time. He will have to face his drunken actions. Harry will be there for a week with him. He won’t be able to run from him like he does every time he uses him. 

It feels shitty to think of it that way, that he’s being used, but there’s not really another word for it. Louis gets pissed, apologises at his doorstep, touches him just right, then leaves without so much as a goodbye, not to return for another few months until he wants it again. 

Harry feels terrible about it, but not for anyone but himself. He’s the one who can’t let go. The one who won’t just fucking say no even though he knows he’ll be better off. Knows Louis is using him for sex when he gets tired of pretending he’s straight or pretending he’s happy or pretending anything at all. He knows Louis loves him just as much as he loves him right back. 

Still, he knows how it ended the last time they were actually together. Can never forget that. He touches the chain of his necklace again, hidden as it always is under everything he wears. 

The sun lifts up fully above the trees, so Harry forgets his troubles and stretches up, breaking out into a jog once more, feeling the rush of cold wind at his ears and loving the way it stings. 

After his shower, the rest of the boys finally start to wake. Harry throws together some eggs and bacon for breakfast, setting it onto the table to be grabbed freely. He’s just finished stirring the tea when Louis reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

He looks sleepy, avoiding eye contact with not just Harry but everyone, as if he thinks they all know what happened last night. Before he can even reach for the cabinet, Harry sets his cuppa in front of him with a sigh. 

“Thank you, Haz.” Louis whispers just for him to hear, fingers very gentle like he’s touching porcelain when he bumps them into Harry’s arm, brushing at his rose for just a moment, eyes on their hands, before he turns to go to the table. 

It’s almost like a peace of sorts. Maybe he can get through this week. Maybe Louis just needed to remember why he doesn’t want him, and now they can reach an understanding. Get over their fucked feelings that seem to ruin every meeting they have. Enjoy the reunion for what it is. Not about them, simply. It just isn’t. 

And yet, when they sit down for breakfast, Harry can’t help but feel his stomach twist proudly when he notices the small purple mark he’s left on Louis’ collarbone just above the ‘what’. 

Louis doesn’t look even close to his direction for five hours. 

-

He’s never gotten to see him after these drunk encounters he always seems to regret, which is why his quietness is confusing. Louis and quiet are not words usually put in the same sentence. 

They decide for their first thing together, they will trudge down to the creek behind the cabin and try to catch fish for dinner. The cabin had come stocked with everything needed to go fishing, so it seemed only fair. There’s supposed to be supple amounts of salmon around here or something. 

So they all bundle up and grab a case of beer, chattering with each other as they walk down to the creek. The water becomes audible after about three metres from the cabin, the unmistakable sound of moving water. It’s quite nice out, not so freezing that they’re shivering, but definitely cold. 

Harry chats with Liam about the proper way to de-bone a fish, though neither of them actually know what the hell they’re talking about. 

They set up some camping chairs at the edge of the creek. There’s only three poles, so Louis and Zayn sit and watch as the rest of them struggle to put worms on the hooks. Once everyone’s got their lines out, a calm falls over the group. 

“Remember Madison Square Garden?” Niall asks once they fall silent. 

“Of course.” Zayn replies. They all smile at the memory of that incredible gig. They had all been so damn nervous, and the nerves seem to have helped them to perform even better that night. It was unforgettable. Liam starts to talk about how he nearly had a meltdown when he’d forgotten to stand at the right spot during one of the songs, unnoticeable to anyone but them. 

After that show, he and Louis had taken a nice relaxing bath together in the hotel room, rose petals thrown in the water. By the end of the night most of them had drowned after they touched each other for what seemed like ages, even after their fingers had gone pruned. 

Harry, knuckles white around the handle of his pole, looks down past Zayn to him. He’s looking at the water, but he’s smiling very softly, undoubtedly remembering the same thing he is. 

Louis then turns and meets his eyes, and his smile doesn’t fall this time, even as he takes a deep breath, visible even with the bit of space between them. Harry wants to hold him so he isn’t cold anymore. Wants a lot, really. Has always wanted more than he’s allowed. 

Not breaking the eye contact, Louis reaches into his pocket and digs out a lighter, and then he stands and turns the other way. He wants Harry to follow. 

“Be right back.” Harry mumbles, handing his pole to Zayn, ignoring his ‘you two making up?’ and following Louis away from the boys, upstream for a little bit until he deems the distance long enough, then he fumbles to get a cigarette out, hands shaky. 

“Are you nervous or just cold?” Harry asks, stopping a few feet away. He isn’t sure what is about to happen, so he keeps a bit of distance in case it’s bad. For all he knows, Louis might be about to say he’s leaving the reunion early. 

“Bit of both.” He replies, one of the rare occasions that he actually admits his true feelings. Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets, heart skipping at the sight of him. So beautiful, chin tipped to the sky as he exhales the smoke, bundled up in a beanie and a coat that’s too big for him. He’s always been too beautiful for Harry to handle. 

Even smoking, something he’s never supported, Louis looks good. He could make anything look good. Or maybe Harry’s just in love with him, tripping over nothing to give him what he wants despite getting next to nothing in return. 

“I don’t usually have to see you..the morning after.” Louis finally starts, flicking his fag to rid of the ash. Harry looks at the 28 on his delicate fingers with an aching heart. 

“You don’t have to tell me you regret it. Waking up alone always sends the message.” He replies. It’s not said angrily, just sad. 

“I don’t..I leave every time because if I wake up next to you I won’t be able to leave again. I don’t regret it, I only regret that I let myself do it do you. To us.” He looks a bit frustrated, but Harry waits patiently as he works the words out. Louis’ never been the best at serious talk, let alone relationship talk. It’s almost an honour every time he tries like this. Harry doesn’t let that get his hopes up. 

“I don’t get why you’re telling me this.” 

“Because..I can’t—I can’t stay away from you, H. I need you to stay away from me. I need you to stop me before it happens again. If we never stop we’ll just be in this constant loop and will never be able to get over each other.” 

“So basically you have shit self control, and want me to say no despite the fact that I know the feelings here are mutual and you only want to stop because you’re scared?” He laughs humourlessly. Louis tosses his spent cigarette and crosses his arms with a frustrated sigh. 

“I’m not scared. We just don’t work. We both know that.” 

“No, that’s not what this is. We work perfectly fucking fine, until you decide your internalised homophobia is more important, or until you read some hate comments and take it to heart, or until you decide to go fuck someone else and have a kid while I’m home writing songs about marrying your stupid arse.” He scrubs a hand through his hair stressfully, turning to the creek instead of facing him as his chin wobbles. It still hurts. Just like the first night. It still hurts so bad, like a hole being ripped through his chest. 

Louis steps up to him, fallen leaves crinkling under his shoes. He reaches out tentatively, fingers tangling with his. They fit like a glove. Always have, the two of them. Fit together like puzzle pieces. Since the beginning. Harry should pull away. He should storm off and not give him the time of day. 

Alas, he’s weak with his touch. Hasn’t held his hand in years. Not away from the bedroom, not when Louis is sober. He covers his face with his free hand as he starts to actually cry. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby.” Louis says in a pained rasp, pulling at his hand until Harry turns to him and lowers his head to Louis’ shoulder. Making himself smaller so he can be coddled. The same way he always used to. Louis presses a kiss to his temple and holds him tightly as he cries. 

“I don’t deserve you. I leave during the night because if I let this happen it will only end in me fucking up again. I can’t break your heart again. I have to let you go so you can find someone who’s worth it—“

“You break my heart every time you smash and dash me.” He hates the term, it feels gross on his tongue, but it’s properly fitting. 

“I know. That’s why I want you to stop me. I can’t let you go.” Louis murmurs as he combs through his curls, voice shaky like he might be on the verge of tears too. 

Harry slides his hands down a bit, resting on his lower back. He turns his head to Louis’ neck, pressing a kiss there, feeling the way the man tilts his head automatically to give him more room. Like second nature. 

“What if I think it’s worth it? To give you another chance.” Harry pulls him even closer, heart pounding in his chest. Always is with him. Like he’s sixteen again, having their first kiss in a broom closet, giggling in each other’s mouths with the adrenaline, knowing if they take too long they’d be late to their video diary. He wants to kiss him, now. 

“I’ve broken us up three times, I think I’m out of chances, love.” Louis says, but pushes them apart just enough to reach his lips, kissing him as if he can read minds. Fireworks, just like that first time. 

“Take it anyway, I don’t want anyone else.” Harry says between kisses, basically begging. 

Louis makes a noise and pulls away, and doesn’t stop pulling away until they’re completely separated. He shoves his fingers into his hair, readjusting his beanie so the strands aren’t sticking out all over the place. 

“This is better for the both of us. You know it is. You have to let it go before it kills us both.” He shakes out his hands and moves to leave, but stops, eye catching Harry’s neck where the chain of his necklace sticks out the smallest bit. 

He gets close again, and pulls the necklace out from under his layers, breath catching at what sits on the chain. 

“What am I supposed to do about this, Lou?” He touches at the necklace as well, where his engagement ring dangles from the chain. The ring he never got to wear outside of their home. The ring Louis gave him in 2013 with a promise to follow through one day. 

“What about all of our matching tattoos? What about the fact that I’m still in love with you even after all of our shit? You think I can just let this go? I’m in this for life, don’t you get that? I love you despite everything. I can’t let you go, so if you actually want this to stop, you’re just going to have to stop getting drunk and showing up on my doorstep. If you can’t do that, get over your guilt and put this ring back on my finger and we can figure it out.” 

Louis’ eyes are wide. He wipes at his eyes, and for just a second, Harry thinks he might actually do it. Thinks he might actually unclasp the ring and slide it onto him, kiss him and promise not to leave ever again. 

Instead, the elder takes a shaky breath and turns, walking back towards the boys, arms crossing as he goes. Harry closes his eyes and tucks his necklace back under his shirt, once again reminded why he can never allow himself hope. 

-

That night, he’s laying in the pitch black trying to make himself tired when his door opens and shuts very quietly. The bed dips a few seconds later. Harry doesn’t need to turn to know. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks in a whisper. 

“No.” Louis replies in the same hushed tone, then picks up the duvet and crawls in next to him. Harry lifts his arm and lets him cuddle up against him. It feels incredibly nice. Sort of like exactly what’s missing when he lies in bed restlessly every night. 

“Are you leaving the reunion early?” He asks next, heart sinking. 

“No..I was thinking that maybe we have to end on good terms for it to actually work. I think we should let whatever happens happen this week, and in the end we part ways, knowing what’s over is over.” Louis murmurs quietly, sounding unsure about what he’s saying even as he says it. 

“I dunno if that makes sense.” Harry replies. Louis’ head lifts, his hand feeling it’s way to his face. Their lips press together soon after. Harry clutches him and tries not to throw a damn parade. 

“Do you remember Paris?” Louis asks softly, pulling their lips apart only to start trailing kisses up his jaw. 

“Which time?” Harry replies, and feels Louis smile against his neck. He nips him a bit. 

“You know which time. Do you remember what you said to me in our room the night of that interview?”

“How could I forget?”

“Tell me.” Louis whispers right at his ear. Harry slides a hand under his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“I was a little drunk that night.” Harry huffs, cheeks heating up at the thought of repeating that. Louis tangles their legs together and just waits, because he knows he doesn’t have to ask twice. 

“I want to be just us forever. I want the house and the marriage and the kids. I don’t..I don’t care what shit gets thrown at us as long as I still get to do this every night.” He repeats what he’d said that night in 2012, tangled with Louis in a bed much like he is now, barely 18 years old and already so sure of his feelings. He’s always been sure with Louis. There wasn’t a moment in their lives that he wasn’t sure. Not a single one. 

“Do you still feel the same? After everything that was thrown at us? Or that I threw at you?” 

Harry frowns, pulling Louis up a bit so he can kiss him. As he does, he takes the man’s hand and places it over his own chest. 

“Are you taking the piss, or legitimately questioning how I feel about you?” 

Louis brushes their lips together with a shaky breath as if he can’t believe it. 

“To be fair, I haven’t touched you sober in about a year.” To nail his point in, his hand wanders up underneath Harry’s shirt. He spreads his hand over where they both know the butterfly is. 

He wonders if maybe this is why the lights are kept off, if maybe Louis is nervous, to actually talk to him sober, nothing but their feelings thrown between them, painfully truthful. Once upon a time he might’ve poked fun, made it infinitely cheesier just to make Louis hide his smile in a pillow with a groan. 

It feels too fragile now, like Louis might just up and change his mind about this cabin fling idea. 

So instead, Harry touches his hair a bit and after a some more kissing, they lie down to sleep. He wonders if he’s going to wake up alone. Fully expects so.

Still, he falls asleep easier than he has in months. 

-

‘ _never thought that giving up would be so hard. god, i’m missing you and your addictive heart’~_

-L-

Louis wakes up with curls in his mouth and an arm of pins and needles. 

Half asleep, he exhales contently and presses in closer, adjusting his arm so it can wake up. Harry hums and presses at his shoulder until he rolls onto his back. He assumes the boy is going for his morning run, which is why the fingers at his waistband and the lips dragging over his hip are so startling. 

He fully wakes immediately, hand skirting down his chest and finding Harry’s hair, tangling into his curls. They haven’t done this in a while. Not a blowie, they’ve done that plenty. It’s everything else in this context. 

Louis’ already at a semi when Harry thumbs his briefs down and mouths at his cock. He bites his lip, knows if he looks down he might fucking lose it. 

He does it anyway, and Harry’s looking up at him as he sucks his head in, his obscene lips spreading around him, eyes an unholy green. 

“Fuck, baby.” He gasps, clutching the sheets with his free hand, the first tightening in Harry’s hair. The boy moans at the pain, sending vibrations all over the place. 

He’s not going to last long, that’s for damn sure. He feels overstimulated. Not in the sense that he’s come already, but with everything else in the few minutes he’s been awake. He’s still reeling from waking up next to him again. 

Harry removes his hand from pumping the half he can’t reach and sinks down further instead. Louis can only watch helplessly, breathing coming out in desperate bursts. 

He has to put an arm over his face, bite into his jumper so his moans are muffled. He’s always been embarrassingly loud with Harry, and the boy knows it, always trying to make him louder. Always pushing him a bit further. God, Louis loves him so much. Too much. To the point where it’s painful sometimes. 

His hand in Harry’s hair stops pulling at it roughly and starts to pet him, encouraging him, almost. His sinful tongue slows a bit, and suddenly it’s a lot less quick and dirty and a lot more..something else. 

Louis lifts his arm away and allows himself another look. Harry’s eyebrows are furrowed, hands holding him almost sweetly, a wave of emotion in his eyes when they meet his. 

“I love you,” Louis chokes, watching how that makes Harry’s eyes gloss over, “fuck, I love you.” 

He clutches Harry’s hand as a warning before he comes, back arching, heart slamming in his chest. He presses his lips together in an attempt to stay quiet but he can’t help it, whimpering with the feeling of it all. 

Harry pops off and replaces his briefs gently, kissing up his chest and nuzzling into his neck. He’s always cuddly after sex, even if he isn’t the one who came. Though, after such a nice wake up alarm, he should, shouldn’t he? 

Louis presses at his shoulders and flips them so Harry’s on his back, then he climbs on top, straddling his torso and connecting their lips. He can taste the come on Harry’s tongue, and it’s dirty enough that he might just get it up again. He reaches under himself and sneaks a hand into Harry’s joggers, wrapping a hand around him. He’s already got himself wet with precome, always so turned on by pleasing him. 

Harry chews on his lip, eyes raking over his bare chest, hands on his thighs. Louis wants to get him off so he leans in, pressing a kiss to the boy’s temple and hiding his face there. 

“Want you to fuck me tonight,” he smiles when Harry’s hands tighten, hips bucking up, “want you to spend all day knowing it’s going to happen, getting impatient cause you want it now. Do you want that?” 

He has to hide his face every time he talks dirty. If he sees Harry’s face in reaction to that he might just yank that ring off of the chain and put it back on him. 

“Yes, fuck, I want it. P-please.” Harry moans deliciously in his ear, head falling back against the headboard as he comes, hips stuttering upwards because he just can’t control it. 

“Looking forward to it.” Louis grins and climbs off of him, taking in just everything he looks like right now, before he walks away to Harry’s toilet to use all of his shampoo. 

In the shower, he stands with the hot water beating onto his head, looking down so it trails all over his face, closing his eyes as the guilt comes back. The guilt he always feels after giving in and touching him. 

It’s truly fucked. He’d spent all of October telling himself he would just smile politely at Harry and not give in to his wants, and immediately gets himself pissed and fucks him within a few hours of arriving. 

He knows that what he needs to actually end them is to just fucking stay away, but it’s like tearing apart a flower from its stem. He feels like he’s drowning when they’re apart. He loses himself every time. Writing terribly longing songs and getting high far too often to the point where he loses days. 

Being away from Harry hurts so bad that he forgets why he’s away in the first place. Drinks to try and forget his name, and it always leads to him hopping in a cab and falling back on his doorstep. 

Like fucking magnets or something. He’s never loved anyone like he’s loved Harry. Has never felt so sure of those feelings every time he so much as sees him. 

Despite all of that, it only takes one memory of Harry’s hysterical crying after their last break up to remember why he’s trying to end them. He’ll never forget the look on that boy’s face when he told him in tears that he’d not only cheated on him, but that that cheat had produced a baby. 

He loves Freddie, of course. Could never say that he doesn’t love his son. Becoming a dad has put so many things into perspective that he didn’t even think of before. He’d always had a sort of paternal instinct around children, being around all of his siblings for so long, but having one as his own is a completely different story. 

And still, he knows about his and Harry’s kid talks. They had been talking about kids before they even knew how gone for each other they were. It was always in the big plan. Band, then marriage, then kids. They would lie in bed in god knows whatever big city they were in and make plans for nursery colours. Baby names. The conversations were terrifying, so big for their ages. Harry still technically being a teenager. Still, he knew it’s what he wants, even if it’s scary. 

Then he’d gone and had his first baby with someone else for reasons that are just god awful and don’t even make any fucking sense. 

It makes his heart ache even now, to remember that look of betrayal in those pretty green eyes, but even worse, remembering the first thing he’d said. 

“ _So you’re leaving me for her?_ ” 

It breaks him to remember him saying that. After being told his fiancé had cheated and made a baby, Harry was so sure Louis had fallen in love with someone else. His lack of anger was so much worse than expected. 

He had figured that Harry would scream at him, break some shit, shove his toothbrush in his hand and kick him out. But he didn’t. He was just sad. Heartbroken. Asking if this meant he’ll be alone. It was so much worse. Louis can handle anger and screaming and slapping. But he couldn’t handle the way the boy had just broken down, like he’d expected it to happen. After Louis had fucked up twice already and broken them up, surely he was expecting it to happen again, and Louis didn’t let that expectation die out, that’s for sure. 

Harry deserves so much more than him. He deserves someone who will cherish him and never have doubts. Someone who won’t spend the first two years of their relationship in denial of his own sexuality. Someone who won’t take one look at a wedding venue and go fuck someone else in fear. 

He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but Harry was right. He was scared,  _is_ scared. He’s bloody terrified of these feelings he has, even now. They’re so strong he worries his heart will give out sometimes. 

Wrapping his arms around his middle as the water beats down onto him, he swears to himself this is the last time. This reunion will be the last time he will let himself have Harry. The last time he will kiss him. Hold him. Touch him. He won’t come back again, this time. After this week he will go as far away as he can, bunker down and just focus on work. Focus on anything else. He has to give Harry that time to get over him, find someone better, get strong enough so the next time Louis shows up at his doorstep he will actually say no. 

So he lifts his head and picks up the shampoo with a huff of a sigh. They’re on day three of the reunion. He’s gotta put his dread to the side and enjoy this. Enjoy their last days spent together. 

It’s all he can do. 

-

Someone suggests that they should watch the video diaries. 

“God, no. The outfits!” Louis complains, covering his face in embarrassment just at the thought. 

“Mate, the outfits are  _why_ we should watch him.” Zayn laughs, settling into the couch with a grin. Then everyone’s sitting, already deciding it’s a great idea. Niall takes the chair and Harry’s fucking already staring at him like he’s daring him to sit in the empty space. 

Louis sighs and settles down next to him, ignoring the way Harry immediately places an arm over the back of the couch. 

“Is that my shampoo?” He asks quietly. Louis rolls his eyes and gives him a pinch, folding his hands in his lap and very platonically not touching him as the first diary starts. 

Halfway through the videos, Louis can feel the tension between the two of them. 

He had been so damn loud back then. He knows he’s always been like that, using silliness and funny goofs to cover up anything more serious. Such as his ‘flamboyant’ side. The fans had noticed anyway. They always noticed. More than the cringe-inducing noises, he can’t help but notice how damn obvious he and Harry were. 

He’d thought they were so sneaky back then, too. Watching these videos, he almost wants to laugh at how transparent they were. Staring at each other, smiling all silly, touching each other for no reason at all. 

Present time Harry’s knee bumps into his, and Louis doesn’t need to turn his head to see the smile he knows is there as the two of them on screen stare in their own little world at each other, not even listening to the actual X factor talk going on right behind their heads. 

If they ever wanted a chance at avoiding the whole Larry thing, they should have sat apart. 

He doesn’t regret it, of course, but he can’t help but wonder what would be different today if they weren’t forced apart by homophobes in expensive suits. 

He wonders if maybe they’d be happier without everything. Without the beards and the pretending to hate each other and the relinquish of their twitter accounts to whomever wanted to fuck up their on camera friendship even more. 

Like he’s thinking the same thing, Harry’s hand over the back of the couch touches his shoulder, rubbing circles there. 

Louis doesn’t want to leave again. If he were selfish, he would put that ring back on Harry’s finger knowing full well he will just fuck it up again. He would turn right now and lie his head on his shoulder as they watch video evidence of them falling for each other. 

But he isn’t. He won’t hurt Harry again. They will leave on good terms in a few days, and eventually, Louis will receive a wedding invitation in his mail, and he will know Harry is finally truly happy, done with his shit. It’s all he wants. He just wants Harry to be happy. He knows he himself will never be, especially without him, but it’s a small price to pay. Almost like a sacrifice. It doesn’t make up for what he’s done in the past, but he can only hope it’s enough to be forgiven. Not just by Harry, but by himself. 

After finishing the video diaries they move on to the music videos, so Louis stands up to make some popcorn. He’s only stood in the kitchen alone for about twenty seconds. 

He opens the package of microwaveable popcorn as big hands settle on his hips, lips pressing to his shoulder. 

“Feel like we’re sneaking around the X factor house again.” Harry mumbles. Louis smirks, popping the bag into the microwave and pressing start. 

“That was hardly sneaking back then. We were so shit at it.” He replies, clutching the counter as Harry bites him a bit. 

“Might still be shit. Can’t stop starin’ at your arse. Can’t wait until tonight. Want it now.” He rocks his hips forward so Louis can feel just how much he wants it. It’s so fucking hot. 

“You can’t have me now. Gotta be patient, love.” Even as he says this, he presses back into him just to be a tease. The popping starts, and then he’s being spun around. Harry’s eyes are dark, hands cupping both of his cheeks and squeezing them together, lifting him easily up onto the counter. He doesn’t like to admit it, but Louis’ a bit of a sucker for being manhandled. 

“Remember that time you cried when I rimmed you? Was that Brazil?” Harry, unlike Louis, has no trouble saying dirty shit, even while staring right into his soul. Louis clutches his shirt, stomach swimming with need. 

“Yeah, it was Brazil.” He whispers, head tilting back against the cabinet when Harry starts to suck at his neck. He’s proper seduced, heart slamming as he remembers Brazil. Remembers sobbing into the pillow as Harry’s tongue stabbed into him. 

Then again, they had been so busy the few weeks before that he hadn’t had much of anything before then. It was just coincidence that he was so fucking desperate. Even if he hadn’t been, Harry’s tongue is incredible. He’s sort of incredible all around, really. Louis hooks his legs around him, pulling him closer. 

“I can do it again tonight, if you want. Want my tongue, Lou?”

“Harry—“

“Popcorn’s burnt.” Harry whispers. He presses one last kiss, then backs away with a smirk, leaving Louis on the counter with a hard on and a pounding heart. 

-

After far too many videos and even more embarrassing stories, they sit around the table for dinner. Thankfully, the boys have started to follow recipes better. Not that Louis knows what the hell to do in a kitchen. 

He and Harry sit right across from each other, sneaking glances over the food like teenagers. Neither of them listen to the conversation happening between the other boys. Louis kicks his foot out, finds Harry’s under the table, tapping it. 

Harry catches it between his own, starting to smile like he can’t help it. Louis raises an eyebrow and slides his socked foot up his leg, touching his fork to his lips so he doesn’t grin when Harry’s dimples pop. 

His heart flutters at the sight of that smile at him. It’s definitely not the first time, but it’s been quite a while. Louis wants to make it worse. Wants to make his eyes sparkle too, so he crosses his eyes. 

Harry sets his fork down to cover his mouth so he doesn’t laugh audibly. Louis smirks, twirling his fork around and pretending he doesn’t love this. Love just fucking around for no reason. He’s missed it. Missed seeing Harry’s smile at him instead of his frown. Instead of his tears. 

“Can I interrupt? Are you two playing footsie right now?” Liam’s voice cuts into whatever the hell Zayn was saying. Everyone looks at them. Louis sets his fork down, clearing his throat and decidedly not taking his foot away from Harry’s. 

“What’s it to ya Payno?” He asks, tilting his head at the guy. They’re all smiling like it’s some big deal. 

“Nothing..I mean, does this mean you two will stop moping around? You’ve finally made up?” Liam asks hopefully, eyes glancing between the two of them. Harry just looks to Louis for the answer, always letting him do the talking. 

“Make up? That would mean we’re having a falling out.”

“Well, aren’t you, I mean..didn’t you?” Liam looks confused now. Harry kicks him a bit, smiling at his teasing. 

“Are we having a fight, Harold?” Louis turns to him to ask, tilting his head. 

“Not that I know of.” Harry replies, tapping his chin like he’s really thinking about it. Niall starts to laugh, and Zayn smiles at his plate. Liam just looks affronted. 

“Alright, then. Just try not to wake us all up with your screaming.” Liam sighs. Louis flicks his peas at him with a gawk. 

“How dare you. You know Harry and I have always been nothing but very platonic!” 

Harry giggles into his water, and everyone else starts to laugh. Louis acts confused for about five seconds before he laughs as well. 

“Sure, tell that to me poor ears every time we got stuck in a room next to you.”

Then they’re all set off, telling stories about walking in to them kissing or naked, horror stories about having to get better earplugs or being unable to get their attention for minutes on end, stuck in a bubble. 

Louis looks back to Harry, and the boy is smiling, already looking at him. They know all of these stories already. Lived them. Good stories. The good parts around all of the bad. Harry’s cheeks start to go pink, so Louis pushes his plate away from himself with a loud scrape. 

“Alright, alright. That’s enough.” 

“Seriously though. Are you guys..?” Liam trails off, but the  _back together_ is heard anyway. 

Harry looks at him, lip in his teeth and waiting for an answer. Louis swallows thickly and looks away, back to Liam. 

“We’re what we’ve always been, Li.” He says, and watches Harry fiddle with his rings like he always does, smiling at the table. He doesn’t release Louis’ foot, but holds him tighter. 

Louis smiles, patience thinning every time he sees that smile. He can’t wait for tonight. To hold him again. Touch him. All of the things he can’t do in front of everyone. 

He’s going to miss it. 

-

_‘i took some time ‘cause i’ve ran out of energy, of playing someone i heard i’m supposed to be. but honestly, i don’t have to choose anymore_ ’~

About ten seconds after flopping onto the bed, Harry crawls in with him, lips to his cheek, peppering kisses all over his face. 

Louis chuckles, putting his fingers in the boy’s curls where they belong. 

“I suppose this reunion isn’t so bad.” He says. Harry hums, hands wandering, tickling at his thighs.

“Yeah, Niall’s cooking is definitely saving it.” Harry would probably be better at teasing if he would stop smiling all silly, audible in his voice. 

Louis huffs a laugh, opening his eyes to see the dimples he knew would be there. He dips a thumb into one, probably looking far too fond. 

“Don’t act humble. You knew exactly what you were doing in that kitchen.” 

Harry lies down next to him, head on his palm, his other trailing over his chest. 

“You have a crush on me or something?” He asks, touching Louis’ hand, tracing over the 28 with a smile. 

“No idea what you’re on about. I’m just here for the fishing.” 

Harry giggles, leaning in to nuzzle at his jaw, tangling their fingers together. 

“You’re right, you have no feelings for me.”

“Obviously.”

“Genuinely, obviously, genuinely no feelings here at all.” 

Louis groans, pushing his cheeky face away, cheeks heating. 

“Fuck off, that interview was deleted for a reason.” 

“No, it was  _totally_ believable. Everyone knows about the iPhone conspiracies now.” Harry’s just poking fun now, the little shit. 

“Of course you watched it. Stalking me, are ya?” 

“Yep,” Harry pops the P, “I usually resort to stalking when you up and disappear for months at a time and don’t return my texts.” 

He was probably making a joke, but Louis’ smile fades into a frown. He combs through his curls, probably getting them all frizzy, but knowing he likes it. It gets quiet. Harry’s smile is a bit sad, but he doesn’t pull away, still tracing his tattoos. 

“I’m sorry.” Louis murmurs, closing his eyes as that image comes to his mind. Harry curled up in a bed alone searching through mostly false rags to find out what he’s up to, because of course he couldn’t be a decent human being and just respond to some texts. 

Harry shifts, crawling up over him, and then pulls at his shirt until Louis lifts his arms and lets it be yanked off of him. He opens his eyes, finding an undeserving smile. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Just us tonight.” He says, lips connecting to his collarbone, fingers popping the button on his jeans. 

“Just us.” Louis repeats in a whisper, heart pounding as Harry undresses him, giving him a million kisses as if he’s royalty, coating his fingers in lube and prepping him so slowly he’s almost impatient. 

He always gets a bit fuzzy when they do this. When Harry fucks him. Despite all of the shit, Louis has never let another guy do that to him. Harry loves it, of course, used to always say it’s almost a shame that nobody else gets to experience his arse. 

It would put anyone in a vulnerable place, to be open and exposed like that, to just trust the other person not to hurt him. 

He trusts Harry with his life. 

“I love you.” The boy murmurs as he finally bottoms out. Louis clutches his shoulders, waiting for the pain to subside. 

“I love you.” He replies breathlessly, and his back arches when Harry starts to actually rock his hips, pressing up against his prostate as if there’s no other option. 

“So beautiful, baby, you’re so—so..” Harry chokes off, hooking a hand under his knee and changing the angle just right, face hiding in Louis’ neck. 

“Harry? Haz, what is it?” Louis’ worry spikes when he feels his neck moisten with definitely not sweat. 

Harry doesn’t slow the movement of his hips, but he pulls away enough to kiss him, breathing harshly. Louis tugs at his hair until they part, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the tears filling his pretty eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, and finally Harry slows a bit, eyes squeezing closed as he laughs through his tears. 

“N-nothing. It’s the opposite. It’s exactly right. We haven’t done this sober in more than a year. It’s—“ he makes a noise, running a hand up Louis’ waist like he can’t even believe they’re together, “I don’t want it to end. I want this forever.” 

Louis cups his cheek, wiping his tears as they come, feeling the emotions himself. 

“I’m right here, love. Look at me, I’m here with you right now.” He murmurs, leaning up to kiss him. 

“Don’t leave.” Harry whispers against his skin, then he yanks Louis’ hips up and slams back into him. 

Louis gasps, nails digging into Harry’s shoulder as the boy just outright fucks him, hard and a bit rough. 

“Say you won’t leave.” Harry presses his wrists to the bed, restraining him, and bites at his throat. Louis keens, toes curling at how fucking hot it is. He’s close embarrassingly fast. Can’t help it when Harry’s like this. All rough and almost angry. 

“Tell me, Louis.” He squeezes his hands tight around his wrists, fucking into him so hard that the entire bed is shifting, probably hitting the wall and making noise. 

“F-fuck—“ Louis’ back arches as he comes untouched, moaning unabashedly despite the others in the cabin. If anything, Harry probably gets off on it, on knowing everyone can hear what he’s doing to him. 

Harry follows three thrusts later, never one to last long after seeing him come. He pulls out of him, and Louis can feel it dribbling out of him. It’s so fucking messy and he loves it, sighing contently when Harry kisses him softly. 

“C’mon, let’s have a shower.” He murmurs, helping him up out of the bed. They take a quick shower, bumping into each other and giggling with the struggle of the rather small shower. 

After changing the sheets, they lie back down, facing each other, enveloped together. They don’t talk about what was said, they just snog lazily and eventually go to sleep. 

Louis waits what is probably an hour, then he untangles himself and pulls on his joggers. He’s just stuck his head through a hoodie when the bed shifts next to him. 

“Lou?” Harry lifts his head, half asleep, looking at him with a frown. Louis smiles and steps over, crouching down next to the bed and petting at his hair. 

“Are you leaving me?” The boy asks, slurring a bit with his sleep riddled brain. 

“Just going for a smoke, darling. I’ll be right back.” Louis promises, and finally Harry’s face relaxes, and he falls back asleep within the minute. 

After putting on a coat over the hoodie and sticking his feet in his boots at the door, he steps outside, and leans against the wood railing of the deck as he lights a cigarette. 

His heart aches, thinking of Harry being scared he’s going to leave. Because it’s what he always does. Sneaks out after sex while the boy sleeps. It would be pretty bloody unsurprising. He can imagine what Harry’s face would be the next day as he tells the boys Louis has run off again like he always does. 

He takes a deep drag, looking out at the pitch black forest surrounding the cabin. Just the deck light is on, so he can only barely see the closest objects. After that, it’s just shadows of trees and the moon peeking out between a million clouds. 

Harry has never begged him to stay like that, not with so much emotion. It killed him not to just agree. He wanted to. Wanted to pull the boy close and promise he will never leave again. 

But he knows he can’t. Knows that hurting Harry this one last time will ensure that he won’t hurt him in the future. He has to keep reminding himself that he’s not good for him. That he’s too impulsive, too terrified, too wrong for him. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t deserve Harry or his love. He has to remind himself because it’s just so easy to fall back into their bubble. 

So easy to laugh and cuddle with him and forget that in four days he’s going to leave for the last time. He’s going to say goodbye and not return until they’re over each other. 

He finishes the fag and makes his way back inside, shivering as he gets back into the warm cabin. Undressing as he goes, he’s down to just joggers by the time he crawls back into bed. Cuddling up to Harry’s back, he wraps himself around him, sighing contently into his hair. He memorises this feeling, of holding the person he’s loved since he was 18. 

As if he could possibly forget. 

-

’ _and it’s been ages, different stages. come so far from princess park. i’ll always need ya, in front of me, in front of me’~_

-H-

Harry wakes up to cold sheets and his dream of blue eyes sparkling in the old flat fading by the second. He sits up, worry spiking as he looks to see the toilet is empty. He grabs his phone from the nightstand to see his only text is one from his mum. 

‘ _Be patient with L, honey. Don’t forget you love him.’_

It’s a suspicious text. He climbs out of bed and throws on some sweatpants, padding downstairs, stomach flipping every time he finds an additional room that doesn’t contain who he’s looking for. 

Heart racing, he finds himself desperate, throwing open doors to rooms he hasn’t even really been in. Opening a door that leads to the second den that’s too far off the kitchen to be actually used, he sighs in relief when he finds him. 

“Didn’t know there was a piano.” He says dumbly. Louis looks up from where he’s scribbling on a yellow notepad, cigarette stuck on his ear, one half smoked sitting in an ashtray on the huge beautiful grand piano. His hair is messy like he hasn’t brushed it, and he’s wearing his joggers from last night and a grey jumper that he definitely nicked from Harry’s duffel. 

“Yeah, neither did I. S’ nice.” Louis says distractedly, crossing something out on his pad and writing something else. 

“I thought you’d left.” Harry says, closing the door behind himself and stepping up to lean against the piano. He stabs the cigarette out, always passive aggressively trying to get him to quit. 

Louis just smiles at the gesture, then plays one simple chord, before he writes something else down. 

“Told you I’m not leaving the reunion, H.” 

Harry shrugs sheepishly, sitting his chin on his palm and enjoying Louis’ focused face. He’s always loved watching him write. When he and the boys would sit down to write for the band, it was his favourite thing to do. Watch the genius just flow out of him as if he never runs out of inspiration, going back and forth with Liam for hours, making no sense to anyone else listening in, until they slap down a notebook with 15 full songs ready to try. 

“Can I see?” He finally works up the courage to ask, not wanting to ruin his flow, but endlessly curious. 

“Yeah, I need fresh eyes anyway. Here, I’ll play and you read.” Louis scoots over on the piano bench, so Harry straddles it, immediately going in for the read. The elder starts to play a nice melody. It’s a little on the sad side, but so are the lyrics. 

Louis tapers off halfway through, mumbling about how he doesn’t have the music decided yet. Harry finishes reading with a smile, pointing to the words ‘eyes like winter pine’. 

“Bit too obvious, innit?” He chews at his lip. 

Louis peeks at the words and smirks, reaching up to swipe a finger over Harry’s eyebrow. 

“Not as obvious as  _two hearts in one home_.” He replies with a chuckle, kicking at him. Harry flushes, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“I disagree. Mine are always subtle. You’re the one who just threw in  _Princess Park_ as if they’d never figure that one out.” 

Louis giggles adorably, picking up the notepad and writing something at the top. 

“Alright, if we’re going for vague, how’s this for a title?” He shows him the pad, where he’s just written ‘I <3 HARRYS DICK’ in all capitals. Harry barks out a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand as he startles himself. Louis, all sparkly eyes and fond smile, reaches for his wrist and lowers it so he’s not covering his mouth. 

“Wish you wouldn’t hide it.” He murmurs, then sets the notepad on the sheet music stand, leaning into him for a kiss. 

“We all have insecurities. Oh hey, did you call my mum?” 

Louis’ smile falls incrementally, and he immediately turns back to the keys, playing his melody very softly. It’s curious. He’s hiding something. 

“Lou?”

“Yeah, I call her sometimes. Is that okay?” 

“Wha—of course it’s okay. I just don’t think she knows everything about us.”

“You want me to stop calling her?” Louis asks, voice the scary kind of emotionless. The kind Harry has heard before. The kind he wishes never had to exist. He takes a shaky breath, realising that this is something that isn’t really about them. 

“No, you can call her however much you want. I just..don’t want her to think badly about us?” 

Louis’ jaw clenches and he abruptly stands up from the bench, shutting his notepad and snatching it up, moving to leave the room. Harry catches his arm before he can leave, pulling him back. 

“Wait, please, just talk to me. You don’t have to leave every time you don’t want to have a conversation.” 

Louis whirls on his heel, his pretty blue eyes angry. He pokes a finger into Harry’s chest, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, I talk to Anne about us. I talk to her probably more often than you do, actually. She’s number three on my speed dial, Harry. I tell her all about my shit and a lot of that shit includes you.”

“Louis, I’m not saying you can’t—“

“Sometimes I need a mother’s advice, okay? Where the fuck else am I going to get it?!” He’s in a near shout, then he covers his face with his hands and takes a very trembly breath. 

Harry’s heart climbs in his throat. He reaches for him immediately, but hesitates. He hesitates because Louis might not want to be touched right now. 

He was with him at the funeral, and then the next one. He was there for weeks after each one, but Louis might not even remember that fact. The man had shut down a bit after losing his mum and sister. Harry learned his way of grieving. Knows he doesn’t want to talk about it, knows that he doesn’t want cuddled when he’s crying about it. Hates that he knows these things. Hates how much the man he loves has been through. As if all of his other shit wasn’t enough, he gets funerals as well. 

“I-I’m sorry, Louis,” he eventually chokes out, hand grasping the air uselessly, “I didn’t—I should’ve realised that’s what it was. I was being daft. I’m sorry. You can talk to her all you want, I don’t need to know anything. I could never understand..I mean, I can’t pretend to know how you feel.” 

Louis scrubs a hand down his face, eyes glossy, but he’s not crying. He crosses his arms, eyes meeting his for a long few seconds. 

“I never told you, so I shouldn’t expect you to know. I’m sorry for yelling.“

“It’s—“

“It’s not okay. You’re just worried about me and I’m just having a weird day.” Louis steps forward and tucks himself against his chest, arms folding up in his shirt. Harry holds him close, nose to the top of his head, trying to transfer his love right into him by how tightly he holds on. 

“You’re still the strongest person I know, even when you’re shouting.” Harry murmurs, swaying them back and forth gently. He can only hope he doesn’t say the wrong thing. He’s done it before, three weeks after Fizzy’s funeral. He’d asked Louis if he could please eat something, saying something about how they wouldn’t want him to starve himself. 

Louis had looked up from his lap for the first time in a week and had picked up the bowl of soup and whirled it at the wall, and then proceeded to go to the kitchen and smash every other bowl he owned. Granted, it was a bit of an emotional breakthrough and after hours of sobbing until it made him throw up, he had very quietly apologised and asked for another chance to eat. 

Harry chooses his words carefully when death is the subject, now. 

Louis’ grieving process, while terrifying, is perfectly valid. Harry doesn’t want to upset him, ever. Wants to shield him from all of the shit. Wants to make him forget about their limbo and just move forward. Wants everything to be happy and okay, but he knows that’s not how it works. 

“I miss..everyone.” Louis whispers, turning his face so his cold nose presses to Harry’s neck. 

“Me too. I wish I could make it better.” Harry murmurs back, reaching up Louis’ back for his hair, combing through the strands for a bit of comfort. 

“You do. Always have.” He says it so quietly it’s nearly silent. Harry squeezes his eyes shut and exhales shakily, tears threatening to escape with every additional thing Louis says. 

“I love you.” He says, and thinks maybe he should make them some tea. He starts to pull away, but Louis doesn’t let go, clinging tightly. 

“Don’t, please. Just one more minute.” He says, voice raspy, trembling just a bit like he’s desperately trying not to cry. 

Harry scoops him up immediately, taking the three steps to the huge cushioned chair in front of the piano, settling down with Louis in his lap, who just keeps hiding his face. 

They sit there for a very long time, until eventually Louis relaxes, and his fists loosen, and he lifts his chin and kisses him. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know.”

“The song is about you. They all are.” Louis says with a shaky smile, as if it’s some big surprise. He’s trying to bring the mood back up, and Harry is definitely happy to do so. 

“I know, Lou. So are mine. I think that was sort of obvious.” 

“You aren’t the only green eyed person I know.” Louis points out, gently tracing his fingers over the bird on Harry’s chest that’s meant to be him. 

“True, but I am the only green eyed person you want to, what was it,  _sink_ to the bottom with?” He remembers one of the lines from the song Louis had just been writing. The man grins, cheeks pinking a bit at the teasing. 

“You don’t know that. I can go scuba diving with anyone.” 

“I thought it was a euphemism for being a power bottom.” Harry grins at the affronted look that gets him. 

“How dare you!” He cries, pinching at Harry’s nipple and making him squirm. 

“What is it then, because you wouldn’t write such an emotional song and throw something in about scuba diving.” 

Louis wriggles a bit in his lap, probably itching for that cigarette Harry’d put out earlier, so he holds him tighter, definitely all up for stopping that from happening. 

“It’s about wanting to give in. Stop over complicating things and just be..even if it’ll put us in hell.” 

“You’re so convinced us getting back together will end in another break up.” It’s not a question. He knows that’s what it is. Louis shoots him a look, eyes narrowing. 

“And you aren’t? A pattern’s a pattern. Besides, we aren’t supposed to talk about it.”

“Louis—“

“Harry,” Louis wriggles enough to stand up from the chair, giving him a stern point like he’s reprimanding him, “we’re supposed to enjoy this week and pretend nobody’s leaving in the end, remember? Don’t break the bubble of pretend, okay?” 

Harry frowns, but holds his tongue. He knows this bubble isn’t something he remembers agreeing too, but in the end, he’d rather have Louis for as long as he can. 

He knows he shouldn’t hope the man will turn around and decide to come home with him, so he doesn’t hope. He isn’t thoroughly convinced that Louis will actually stay away, since he hasn’t every other time he’s left, but this time  _is_ different. Leaving on a good note, as he’d said. Who knows, maybe it will be enough for Louis to actually stay away long enough for Harry to realise he’s actually gone. 

He can beg all he wants, but ultimately the only person who can change Louis’ mind is Louis, so Harry holds his tongue, and pretends that the thought of Louis legitimately leaving makes his whole body feel numb. 

-

He’s rereading his mum’s text a million times, trying to figure out what it means, when Niall plops down next to him with his laptop open to some sort of study flashcard website. 

“Help me think of personal questions about the boys that none of us would know.” 

Harry locks his phone and turns to see what the man has already, finding basic ‘twenty question’ type questions. Favourite colours, movies, first pet names. 

“Niall, you realise this’ll be the easiest game of all time, right? Millions of people in the world know these answers, and they didn’t travel in each of our pants for months at a time.” 

“And that’s why I need help! C’mon, Liam thinks it’ll be fun, I just need better shit to ask.” 

Harry chuckles and takes the laptop, pausing for a good few minutes, desperately trying to think of something he doesn’t know about the other boys. Doesn’t know about Louis. He knows fucking everything about Louis. 

“Okay, I got it. We create our  _own_ cards with things we won’t think the rest would know.” 

“Ooh, that’s good! Alright, you start. At least ten questions, so get to the embarrassing shit.” Niall waggles his eyebrows, then stands up to make a drink. Harry huffs an amused laugh and starts to type. 

Two minutes into the game, half of them have taken shots for incorrect answers, and then it’s Harry’s turn. 

“Okay, what’s my biggest fear?” He asks, leaning back on his palms cockily, clicking onto his flashcard. 

“Snakes! I remember that interview, bitch!” Niall cries excitedly, already picking up the dry erase pen to mark a point for himself. 

“Nope,” Louis says before Harry can, “it’s forgetting everything. Alzheimer’s. His biggest fear is forgetting everything we’ve done. Forgetting us.” 

Everyone looks to Harry for confirmation, who doesn’t move to click the flashcard to the answer, stomach twisting a bit. 

“How’d you know that?” He asks, pointing an accusing finger at him. 

“You told me once when you were drunk. It was after our first album got really huge and you realised just how much we were accomplishing.” Louis smiles softly, and the other boys groan. Liam rolls into a ball like he can hide from the two of them smiling stupidly at each other. Harry’s vaguely aware of Zayn tapping the flash card to double check, sighing at the ‘Alzheimer’s’ he had simply typed in. 

“I think this game might be a bit unfair. They know too much about each other!” Niall, who’s idea it was to play the game in the first place, complains as he pours the shots. Louis smirks as Harry downs his, and they’re yet to look away from each other. 

An hour later, Louis’ standing on the couch in an attempt to escape his shot after Harry’d correctly guessed his childhood favourite food. 

“Louis! You have to take the shot!” Niall laughs from the floor, strumming at his guitar just to up the chaos. Zayn lies groaning on the floor after way too many incorrect answers, and Liam chews on a muffin and watches the silliness. Harry stands in front of Louis, nearly his height despite the elder standing on a whole ass couch, trying to tickle him into coming down. 

“Fuck off! I know you cheated!” Louis says, a bit tipsy after guessing so many wrong answers for the other three boys, so confident and yet so wrong, probably doing it so he  _could_ get pissed. 

“Didn’t cheat, babe, I just know you!” Harry replies, catching his free hand when it comes back around to swat him away, and trying to tug him down. 

“You don’t know everything.” Louis says, but he takes the shot, middle finger held up. 

Harry’s just buzzing a bit, nowhere near as fucked as the rest of them, only answering when he thought he for sure had the answer. Most of his shots were from Louis answering his. They were screwed from the start. They probably should’ve made a rule about not being allowed to answer each other’s.

“Hate to be the one to tell you this, but I do know everything.” He gets a bit impatient and just picks Louis up by his hips, setting him onto the floor where he’s less likely to fall and brain himself on the foot table. 

“Oh yeah? Did you know I wanted to be a footballer?” He asks like it’s some secret he’s never told, rather than something he’s mentioned in probably every interview they ever did. 

“Funnily enough, I did know that.” He takes the shot glass from Louis before he breaks it, cleaning up the floor where he dripped a bit of vodka like a loon. 

“Did you know I’m going to go to Australia? When I leave you for the hundredth time?” 

Niall’s strumming stops. Even Zayn lifts his head with a frown. Harry hasn’t exactly spread the news about he and Louis’..situation. All they really know is about the last big breakup. Ages ago. 

“Don’t mind him.” Harry says with a deep frown, tugging Louis out of the room and up to the bedrooms. 

“What’s wrong Hazza?” Louis asks sweetly as he’s pulled away, eyes red rimmed and still so pretty despite being so frustrating. 

“Isn’t there some pretend bubble we’re supposed to have?” He replies, settling Louis onto the edge of the bed and shutting the door behind them, getting a glass of water and giving it to the man, who pouts at it like a child being given medicine. 

“The pretend bubble probably isn’t healthy, anyway. Come to Australia with me.” He downs half the water and hands it back. Harry accepts it, setting the glass aside and helping Louis out of his socks and jeans. 

“The point of you running away is to get away from me, Louis. Telling me where you’re going and inviting me along sort of defeats the purpose.” 

“I don’t wanna get away from you. Want you with me all the time.” Louis tugs on his jumper, so Harry sighs and crawls into the bed with him. 

“Right. You leave because we don’t ‘work out’.” He quotes the words that were said just the other day. It feels like years ago, almost. 

“No, I leave so you can get over me and find someone who’s worth it.” Louis’ eyes are closed like he’s falling asleep, so he missed the way Harry looks at him, eyes wide and hand stilling where it was pushing his hair back. 

“What? That doesn’t even make sense?”

“Yeah it does. I leave for long enough and you find someone who won’t hurt you. I don’t get you, and I finally get the karma.” 

Harry might cry. He might definitely cry. He reaches out and tangles their fingers together, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Lou, that’s not how this works. I can’t just..fall out of love. Like, if I left you forever, would you be able to be with someone else? Marry literally anyone else and love them?” 

“Definitely not, but you’ve never hurt me.” 

“You act like I’m some perfect guy. I can remember multiple occasions where I hurt you. Said the wrong thing, started a fight because I was jealous over a fake ass girlfriend, then ignored you for days because I’m stubborn.” 

“Not the same. You didn’t cheat on me. You didn’t spend years talking about babies and then go have your first with some girl you don’t even know.” Louis slurs his words, but they hold some serious emotion. Some even more serious self deprecation. 

Of course, Harry knew a big factor to Louis wanting them to stay apart was the guilt, but he didn’t realise just how bad it was. He didn’t realise that the man might just fucking hate himself for it. Think he’s cursed for keeping them together. Louis talks before he can start to tell him not to feel this way. 

“I’m going to regret bringing this up tomorrow. Can we not talk about it when I’m sober?” Louis asks, turning to give him pleading eyes, frowning. 

“I really think we should.”

“We only have three more days. Can we wait until then? I want to remember this trip fondly.” 

“Okay.” Harry sighs, brushing a kiss against his forehead. 

He wants to talk about it. Wants to tell Louis that he has it all wrong. That he could never want anyone else. That nothing he could do will make him get over him. That he will always write his songs about him, will always save those empty drawers in the dresser for if he comes home. He wants to roll them over and kiss every inch of Louis until he realised how much he’s loved despite his fuck ups. He wants to pull up twitter and tell the whole damn world who his heart is reserved for, so maybe he’d understand the gravity of it. Maybe then Louis would understand that he is Harry’s sun and he gravitates around him and nothing else. That it’s him who keeps his heart beating and his hands writing. It’s him who decides how Harry’s future goes. How his songs change. How his heart breaks or fills. Everything. He’s everything. 

“Okay.” Harry murmurs again with an aching heart, long after Louis has fallen asleep. 

-

_ ’you gave me the time and the space. i was out of control, and i’m sorry that i let you down’~ _

On day four of the reunion, Harry wakes up for his morning run and opens the door to find he may just have to skip out on the exercise. 

Immediately, he’s creeping back into the bedroom and shaking Louis awake. 

“Wha? Fuck, what is it ‘arry?” The elder startles awake, reflexes a bit late to catch the coat and jeans that Harry tosses into his lap. 

“Come on, get dressed. Gotta show you something.” Harry murmurs excitedly, trying to keep quiet so he doesn’t wake the others. He knows Louis must have a killer hangover, so he has him down an entire bottle of water with some paracetamol before he’s pulling him out of the room. 

“You gonna axe murder me, Harold?” Louis asks, always sassier in the mornings. Harry just giggles like a child, and pulls his hand all the way to the main den, where the huge floor to ceiling windows are, overlooking the back deck and the forest. 

“Oh.” Louis exhales softly, face softening as he steps up to the windows. The snow blankets every surface outside. Sticking, as well. Due to the privacy of the cabin, there’s not a single print, just an endless abyss of white. The trees are covered in it, the green of the pine only sticking out from underneath. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Harry asks, stepping up next to him and placing a hand on the small of his back. Its been a minute since either of them had the access or free time to enjoy snow, let alone untouched snow. 

“I suppose I’m not so annoyed that you’ve woken me up.” Louis looks to him sheepishly, as if he’d expected anything else. As if he hasn’t spent years making this man a tea in the mornings so he doesn’t snap the first neck he sees, pissy every time he has to wake up even remotely close to morning time. 

“Do you want to go out there? Make a snowman, maybe?” 

Louis grins so wide he may as well just fucking replace every star in the sky, and takes off for his boots. 

Half an hour later, they have what is probably the worst snowman of all time, with terribly ugly pinecones for eyes, rocks for a mouth, a branch of pine in place of a carrot nose. 

“I love him.” Louis sighs, and promptly falls backwards into the snow. Harry laughs and copies along, and then they’re making snow angels. 

Their hands keep brushing as they swipe the arms on the angels, so Harry catches his hand next chance he gets, and they stop moving for a good few minutes, just enjoying the moment. 

Then, Harry sits up and crawls up above Louis, who smiles, but keeps his eyes closed. There’s snowflakes sticking to his eyelashes, his nose a pretty pink. The snow falls steadily, and incredibly silent at the same time. He wants to stay in the moment for the rest of his life. Together, smiling, just enjoying a sweet surprise of the first snow. 

“You take my breath away.” Harry says very honestly, smile only deepening when Louis groans, eyes opening to reveal the prettiest blue of all time. The same blue he’s had clothing designed in.

“Shut up.” He says, shaking his cute little mittened hands in Harry’s face as if it doesn’t just increase the feeling tenfold. 

“Thought you were one to appreciate candour.” 

“Not when it’s giving me cavities, you cheesy fuck.” Louis sounds affronted, but there’s a blush settling high on his cheekbones. Harry just laughs, tipping his head to kiss him. They snog for quite some time, caught in the moment, neither wanting to get up and leave, despite the fact that the snow is starting to get through their layers, seeping into their jeans. 

“Wanna go make some hot cocoa before we get ill?” Harry finally pulls back to ask. Louis hums his agreement, and lets Harry pull him to his feet. 

They’re probably too loud when they get back in, shedding all of their clothing just at the backdoor, wrapping themselves in throw blankets and tossing cocoa packages at each other, and the fact that Louis cackles way too fucking loud when Harry spills a package all over the counter in an attempt to put it in a mug. 

He knows they’re too loud because the other boys come down one by one, annoyed at first, until they see the snow and then they’re all making hot cocoa, and Harry’s giving Louis a second pair of socks in an attempt to fight off the cold they’re both probably due for after way too long outside. 

Even so, Louis sneezes once an hour later, and Harry’s immediately working up chicken noodle soup and fussing like a mother, combating his cold as if they’re mid-tour and have to sing a set-list tomorrow. Louis spends the day on the couch with shitty movies, but he laughs at Harry’s antics and perfects a paper aeroplane to toss at Niall’s head every time he walks by the den. 

By the time the sun is setting, it finally stops snowing, and Louis’ nose is long done running, but they sleep on the couch anyway, wrapped up with each other, surrounded by empty bowls from soup and used face tissue, and balled up paper from the two more songs Louis wrote while using the garage band app on Harry’s iPad for the melody. 

Day four is a really good day. 

-

When Harry wakes up alone, he doesn’t fret. He climbs out of the makeshift couch bed and brushes his teeth, gets ready for the day and gets a pot brewing. He’s only halfway through getting dressed, jeans halfway up his thighs, when he abruptly realises Louis’ bag isn’t in the room anymore. 

He yanks his jeans up and steps back into the toilet, finding the toothbrush usually sat by his missing as well. Heart racing, he flies down the stairs and opens the door to the second den. The piano is empty. Stepping outside into the snow with his bare feet, he sees four vehicles rather than five. 

He’s gone. Louis is gone. 

“Harry, please calm down.” Niall pats at his back, while Liam and Zayn stand on the doorway on their phones, calling over and over despite just getting voicemails. 

“I can’t believe I let myself think he was going to stay again. I always do this shit.” He runs a hand through his hair, sniffling. He’s halfway through a second cuppa when the door opens, and in walks Louis, snow on his boots and his bag over his shoulder. More startling, the bouquet of pink tulips in his hand. 

Everyone’s in quiet shock as the man kicks his boots off, stepping into the house and right over to Harry, where he drops his duffel, then crouches down in front of him. 

“I couldn’t leave. I tried to. We had such a good day yesterday that I thought it would be better to leave on such a good note before we had that big conversation you want so badly,” he takes a shuttering breath, his pretty blue eyes red rimmed like he was crying while driving, “then I realised that I’m a piece of shit who always leaves without saying goodbye, and maybe that’s why it never works..because I never say goodbye.” 

“So you’re saying it now?” Harry asks, hole in his chest, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. 

“No, love. I’m staying until the last day. I promise, this time. I’m not bailing so I don’t have to see your face like a coward.” He sets a hand on Harry’s knee, holds the tulips to him with a sheepish smile. 

Harry takes the flowers and lowers his face to smell their sweet perfume. Despite the promise, he doesn’t let himself get hopeful. He knows Louis can say whatever he wants, but his actions always truly give away what he feels. He could promise to stay, and sneak out in an hour and be gone. 

“They’re lovely, thank—“

“Don’t thank me for apology flowers, H.” Louis huffs a sad little laugh, reaching up to swipe any remaining tears from Harry’s cheeks. He smiles, finally, and sets the flowers on the cushion next to him, tugging at Louis’ jumper. The man breathes a staggering exhale of relief and climbs into Harry’s lap, and then they’re hugging so tightly it almost hurts. 

“I love you.” He murmurs into Louis’ shoulder, inhaling the feeling of him. His smell, the weight of him in his lap, his soft hair tickling at his cheek. He never wants to forget these small things, has to remember that in three small days, he’s going to have to. 

“I don’t deserve it.” Louis whispers back, clutching at Harry’s hair like he might dissolve into nothing. Harry frowns and squeezes him tighter, opening his eyes to see Niall still in the room, leaning against the wall and watching with a small smile. 

The man nods, but he looks sad. He won’t ask, but he must know at least a little of the things they never discussed now. He assumes Liam and Zayn are probably still in the doorway watching as well, but he doesn’t mind. He’s never been embarrassed about showing Louis love in front of people. Always wanted to, actually. Was never allowed to. Never given the chance. 

“I love you anyway.” He decides to say, and Louis turns his face to hide in his neck, breathing a bit staggered like he’s emotional but doesn’t want to be. 

“I love you too.” Louis finally says. Harry smiles and holds him, and they don’t move for a while, even after Louis falls asleep there on his lap, mouth open against his collarbone. He sits there and watches telly and just savours it. Savours Louis and everything he is. 

Wishes he had the strength to even attempt what Louis wants from him. To let him go. 

-

“Are you here to finally tell me what that was all about?” Niall asks when Harry steps into his room, chewing his lip nervously, tugging at his shirt as if it needs fixed. 

“Was just seeing what you’re up to.” He says, settling onto Niall’s bed with him, seeing he’s going through business emails. 

“We both know you need to talk about it. C’mon, spill. Should I get ice cream?” Niall just closes his laptop as if he wasn’t doing anything important. 

“You want to eat ice cream and talk about boys?” Harry asks with a laugh, cheeks pinking at how transparent he apparently is. 

“No, I want to eat ice cream and talk about Louis, there’s a big difference.” Niall points out with a grin, and he’s off to fetch ice cream before Harry can even think of something to say. 

An hour later, Harry’s head is resting on Niall’s stomach while he has a bit of a cry. The Irishman pets at his hair, mindful not to knock over their empty bowls so he doesn’t get mint chocolate chip remnants on the bed. 

“So he just leaves? To try and have you get over each other despite the fact it’s never gonna happen?” 

“Yeah..he says he’s broken us up three times so getting back together would just be another chance for him to fuck up.” 

“Why doesn’t he just..accept what’s happened and learn from it?” 

Harry shrugs, wiping at his eyes. It hurts, since he’s been rubbing at them with his fist for an hour now, wearing them down so it’s painful now. He could only dream of being a type of person who can control his emotions. 

“Do you want me to talk to him?” 

“No, he’d probably be pissed that I told you everything. I think he’s ashamed of it.”

“Well of course he’s ashamed, he did cheat on you.” 

“Yeah,  _five_ fucking years ago. He acts like I sit around crying about it all the time, when really I’ve forgiven him and decided I’d rather love him anyway ages ago.” 

“Have you told him you’ve forgiven him?” Niall asks, and Harry stops, eyebrows furrowing. He thinks back to those dark dark years between 2015 and now. Somewhere between the baby and the breakup and the funerals and the band ending, did he ever say he forgives him? 

“I guess I never directly said so, but he knows I have. I called him and told him to come home, then we continued on. We worked through the shit and somewhere along the way just never properly got back together, I guess.” 

Niall doesn’t say anything, but he’s frowning, and Niall frowning is surely some sort of war crime. 

“I-I didn’t think I had to tell him. I’ve never had to audibly tell him anything in my life, he always just knows. Surely all of this shit isn’t just him thinking I never forgave him, right?” 

Niall just resumes his hair petting, chewing on the inside of his lip. Harry sits up, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Right, Niall? He’s not that daft, is he? You’re supposed to give me advice!” He pokes Niall’s stupid sad little wrinkle between his eyebrows, like this situation is just so depressing. It kind of is, but how dare he, anyway. 

“He knows I’ve forgiven him. It’s been forever and I keep asking him to stay.” Harry stands up, dead set on walking out of the room petulantly. 

“Harry,” Niall says before he can swing the door open, “enjoy these last few days, but whenever you have whatever big conversation Louis mentioned, you should tell him that.” 

Harry sighs with the weight of it all, and hops back to the bed to hug him, squeezing him all tight until the man is laughing and calling uncle, as it should be. Niall not laughing is probably the worst possible outcome of anything ever. 

“Thank you for listening.” 

-

That night, he presses Louis down to the bed and licks him out until he’s reduced to begging, mouth open against the pillow, arse lifting back into his face like he can’t get enough. 

He stabs his tongue into him until Louis comes with the prettiest breathy moan, then he settles back onto the bed and gets him hard again. Louis hisses and says he’s sensitive, but Harry opens himself up and tugs at Louis’ arms until the man groans and fucks him, thighs shaking with the overstimulation. 

When he comes inside of him, his arms give out a bit like it takes everything to do so. 

Afterwards, they stumble to the huge jacuzzi bathtub and soak in it together. Louis, exhausted after orgasming twice, is pliant and clingy, and he whispers everything he loves about Harry as he washes his hair for him. 

Harry can only hope Louis knows that he feels just as much, maybe more, for him. He considers saying it then. Saying he forgives him for everything, begging him to stay, but he doesn’t. He knows it will start an emotional talk, and they only have two more days.

He wants to stay in the afterglow for as long as possible. 

-

On their last full day at the cabin, the five of them decide to sit around the den and have a jam, writing together or singing some of their old songs, trying to remember the words to the vaulted ones that they still love. 

They get a few new songs done, and tuck it away for another day, when they’re done going solo. When they miss each other too much and decide to make a come back. 

Louis is off all day. Usually a big contributor to the writing process, he just messes around on the piano and helps along, but doesn’t offer up lyrics. At one point, he runs a hand through his hair after his third missed note and says something about tea and leaves the room. Nobody looks surprised when Harry gets up to follow. 

When they’re alone, Harry leans against the kitchen counter and watches him prepare the kettle. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks quietly. He can hear Niall’s guitar strumming in the other room, and Zayn’s high rifting to match Liam’s melody, but he still keeps quiet. Just in case. 

“I’m,” Louis starts to say he’s fine, but stops, probably knowing Harry can see right through him, “I’ve written my entire next album on this trip. Did you know that?” 

Harry smiles, crossing his arms so he doesn’t reach out to hug him and gush about how proud he is. Louis knows, probably. They both remember his reaction to Just Hold On. 

“I didn’t know, actually. An entire album? Is that why you can’t think of anything today?”

Louis huffs a dry laugh, setting the kettle on the burner and turning to him. 

“That’s definitely why I’m choosing not to say anything today, yes,” he corrects, eyes sharp, “because I’ve spent god knows how many months now writing from shitty blurry memories of us from me being drunk, and now we’ve spent a whole fucking week together and I can’t stop writing.” 

“Is it the snow? Pretty motivational, that is.” Harry scrambles to try and make a joke, because he’s slightly worried Louis’ going to break something or maybe him with how intensely he’s staring right now. 

“The fans are going to know.” Louis says slowly, stepping up to him and clutching the counter next to his hip, looking up at him with a cocked eyebrow like he’s daring him to ask for otherwise. 

“Are the songs really obvious?” 

“Really fucking obvious. I might as well slap your face on the album cover.” 

“I could agree to that. Would need compensated, of course.” Harry murmurs, heart slamming in his chest. Louis just keeps getting closer. 

“That’s why I can’t write One Direction songs right now, I can’t write about anything but wanting you.” 

“You have me.” Harry gives in and uncrosses his arms, pulling Louis into him by his waist. The man tips their mouths together, fingers immediately tucking into his belt and holding him there like reigns or something. 

They’re rudely interrupted by the kettle screaming it’s head off, so Louis pours the tea and steps right back into his arms. 

“I want them to know.” He murmurs, hand skirting up under his shirt and pressing to his birdcage. Coincidently or not, it makes Harry’s knees a bit weak. 

“Know what?” He asks breathlessly. Louis’ stubble scratches deliciously against his collarbone as he bites at his neck. 

“That I’m yours.” The elder replies, pulling back so their eyes can meet. Despite the blush sneaking up to his ears. 

“You’re mine.” He means to ask it, but he just dazedly repeats it. Louis seems to understand anyway, tilting his chin down a bit so he’s looking at him through his pretty eyelashes. He always knows how to make Harry fucking weak. 

“Want everyone to know who the song’s about. Want ‘em all to know who I’m gone for.” Louis’ definitely weird today. He’s not usually talking like this, like as if he’s thinking about coming out. It’s false hope. It’s not a ‘I’m staying’ but a ‘I’m with you’ and it fucking hurts. Because he’s leaving tomorrow.  _Tomorrow_. He’s leaving tomorrow and he’s putting these sweet thoughts in his head as if they’d ever come true in a million years. 

Harry doesn’t care, anyway. Doesn’t care that it hurts, because it feels so damn good at the same time. He presses their foreheads together, heart feeling like it might burst with how much he loves him. 

“And you’ll tell them I’m yours?” He asks, content to fall into this hypothetical world Louis is talking about. 

“And break the hearts of millions?” Louis pouts a bit, but it’s almost dry. Harry’s stomach twists as he remembers his conversation with Niall the day before. He can’t help but see it now, see how Louis’ fingers graze over him so gently, as if he’s scared he’ll press too hard. The way his breath catches when Harry leans in close as if he never expected to be kissed again in his life. 

“I’m yours too, Louis. Always have been yours.”

“Haz..” Louis closes his eyes, looking down between them where he’s petting over Harry’s arm. He touches his soft fingers to his anchor, then circles them around his wrist and squeezes it. Harry puts his other hand over his, tapping his rope, and Louis huffs a small laugh at the gesture. Anchor and rope. Holding each other together. 

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Lou. Nobody else’s. I’ll never be anyone else’s. You know that, right?” 

“Please,” Louis starts, but he just makes a noise and tucks himself close again, hiding his face. 

“You can tell anyone you want,” Harry continues, because he knows Louis doesn’t want to hear it, but he needs to, “fucking..even something as simple as a tweet, I don’t care. If you want them all to know, you can tell everyone.” 

“I thought we were talking hypothetically.” Louis says, and when he lifts his head he’s all sparkly eyes and sweet little smile. Harry can’t help himself, gives him a kiss. 

“I’m definitely not.” 

Louis doesn’t let him ramble on anymore, pressing him against the counter and kissing him until they can’t breathe, then he sneaks a hand between them and palms at Harry over his pants. 

“Fuck, it’s the middle of the day.” Louis whines, but keeps touching him anyway. 

“Bed’s still there if it’s not nighttime.” Harry grins. Louis raises an eyebrow and tugs him out of the kitchen, heartlessly abandoning the tea. The boys see them and groan, immediately yelling about how they don’t have earplugs. 

In the room, Harry sits at the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. Louis immediately climbs onto his lap, straddling his thighs. 

Harry feels lightheaded, almost, looking at him. Louis’ hair is mussed from running his hands through it too much. Harry wants to mess it up more, so he does, even though it makes him pout. 

“Fuck you.” He grins, shoving Harry back onto his back. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Louis pauses, and then starts to laugh, covering his face. 

“You’re the worst.” He says, then promptly unzips Harry’s jeans to help him out of them. 

Harry sits up to yank off his shirt, then Louis’, then their pants, and he just keeps going until their smiles fade and Harry’s got three fingers in him. 

“C’mon.” Louis mutters impatiently, rocking back onto his fingers as if he’s never felt it before. As if they haven’t done this too many times to count. 

“Would rather take it slow. Last time, right?” 

Louis exhales in a shutter and runs a hand into his curls, holding them probably a little too tightly. Something hot swirls in Harry’s stomach with the pain. 

“Last time.” The man repeats, but he lifts up away from Harry’s fingers, positioning above his cock instead. When he sinks down, his face breaks, head tipping back like he can’t handle it. Harry lies back and let’s him go at his own pace, trying to breathe smoothly so he doesn’t buck up. 

“Feels so fucking good, baby.” He breathes as Louis bottoms out, swirling his hips a bit while he’s there like a damn tease. He’s always been almost terrifyingly good at the whole riding thing. The first time, Harry’d come in 14 seconds. He  _still_ gets shit for it sometimes. 

He has a feeling there won’t be jokes this time. Not with the way Louis’ looking at him, riding him so incredibly slowly, hands drifting up from his ferns to the birds, eyebrows furrowed. He’s so beautiful Harry might just fucking die. 

“I love you.” He says instead, desperate to get his feelings across. His feelings of never wanting it to go away. 

“Fuck, Harry.” Louis moans, then he genuinely starts to ride him, hair bouncing and thighs shaking. 

“Don’t leave.” Harry says, eyes taking over him. He kind of wants to take a photo. Kind of really extremely wants to. 

“Stop asking me to stay when your dick’s in me arse.” Louis says sassily, reaching down to pinch his nipple. It only sets him off more. 

“If you stay we can do this everyday.” 

Louis huffs, eyes meeting his, breathing heavily and shaking a bit. Harry knows exactly what he’s pressed against inside of him. Knows how good it must feel. He lifts his knees, feet planting to the bed, and rocks up into him. 

Louis lies down onto his chest and lets him take the lead, moaning with every thrust. 

“I know you want forever with me, stop pushing it away.” He says, gripping Louis’ hips as he fucks up into him. 

“Forever.” Louis repeats in a slur, nails digging into his shoulder. It hurts really fucking good. 

“Forever, Lou. Wake up next to me every day, walk the dogs together—“

“H-Harry..” Louis sounds vaguely panicked, turning his head the other way so his face is hidden in his chest, reaching under them to grip the sheets. 

“Get married like we wanted to, get a million more generic matching tattoos. Remember our plan? Band, marriage, kids—fuck,  _fuck_.” He hisses as Louis tightens around him deliciously, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s because he came. He came to talk about the future they’d planned. Not even dirty talk. 

Domestic talk has always gotten Harry going, so Louis getting off on it too just ends it for him. He presses into him twice more before he’s spent as well. 

It’s quiet for quite a few minutes. Louis doesn’t seem to want to move, breathing heavily in his neck, making a breathy noise when he pulls out. 

“Hypothetical, right?” He finally asks. It doesn’t sound like he’s trying to joke. Harry throws an arm over his eyes with an exhausted sigh. 

“Yeah. Hypothetical.” He mutters, and doesn’t realise he’d snapped the word like a curse until Louis lifts his head. 

He lowers his arm to find striking blue eyes staring at him. He looks sad, not angry. 

“Sorry.”

“I deserve it.”

“Except you don’t.” 

Louis huffs a laugh and stands up, not even bothering to defend his broken views as he heads to the toilet. While he’s in there cleaning up, Harry does cleaning of his own, getting dressed. When Louis steps back out, he’s wearing pyjamas which are tucked into his boots. It’s a funny look. Harry wants to kiss him. 

“Need a smoke.” 

“Can I come?” Harry asks, jumping up from the bed before he can escape. Louis whirls around with a raised eyebrow. 

“You hate cigarettes.” 

“I also hate avoiding necessary conversations.” He says, watching the way it makes Louis shift on the balls of his feet like he’s uncomfortable. 

“I thought we were waiting on that.”

“We leave tomorrow, Lou. Did you think we were going to talk while packing our bags in the cars?” 

Louis sucks his lip into his mouth, jaw clenching. 

“Fine, c’mon.”

They sit in silence for ten minutes, leaning against the wood railing on the back deck, watching the snow fall so lightly it’s almost not there. 

“Okay. So basically, besides the fact that neither of us are going to get over each other, I don’t think you should leave.” 

“Is this because of the sex talk—“

“It’s because it’s been five years, Louis, and we still can’t stay away from each other, and I can’t even remember why we stayed broken up in the first place.”

“We stayed broken up because of what I did.” Louis says with a humourless laugh, turning to him with narrowed eyes. 

“Have you not noticed that I’m still just as in love with you as I was when I was 16? Despite all of the breakups, and despite all of the shit we were put through.” 

“Ugh, Harry—“

“No, answer me. Do you not realise that my feelings haven’t changed? Because they haven’t, not for a single moment. Not when you freaked out about liking boys, or when you got scared of your feelings, or when you cheated. I’m still here asking you to be with me. The only person trying to keep us apart is you.” 

Louis looks at him with wide eyes, then he turns back to the forest, sucking at his fag like it’s a lifeline. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, and it’s all I seem to know how to do.” 

“If you don’t want to hurt me then stop leaving me. Shouldn’t I be the one who decides if I trust you or not?” 

“Trust, hilarious.” Louis flicks his spent cigarette into the ashtray that sits balancing on the railing, immediately grabbing another, hands shaking. He doesn’t think it’s from the cold. 

Harry’s brows furrow and he steps in closer, stops Louis before he can light it. 

“I trust you, and I forgave you long ago. For everything. Surely you knew that?” 

He hadn’t wanted to believe Niall, but looking at Louis’ wide eyes, cigarette hanging from his lips, he realises the man was right. Louis didn’t know. 

“I thought this conversation was supposed to be serious.” Louis’ voice goes all defensive and scared. 

“This  _is_ serious, love. I forgive you for cheating on me. I forgive you for having your kid. I did years ago. Why would I ask you to come home if I hadn’t forgiven you?” 

Louis takes the cig from his mouth and tucks it on his ear, finally turning to face him. 

“I don’t know? Maybe because I killed us? Because I broke us up over the dumbest shit three times and still let men in suits fuck us up when we were still teenagers. Didn’t speak up when they decided Eleanor wasn’t enough to stop the fans shipping and looped you in as well.” 

“What? Louis, the beard shit was  _not_ your fault. You know none of that was because of you.” 

“You were  _sixteen_ in the start, Harry. Do you realise how young that is, now? If I hadn’t—maybe if I hadn’t fallen for you, you’d be happier.” He sets his elbows on the railing and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes in frustration or maybe stress. Maybe both. 

“I am happy. I don’t understand, I’ve never seen you so, like, self-loathing. We’ve both fucked each other up a few times. If you hadn’t fallen for me, I’d be so much worse off because then I’d be alone. I was gone for you ever since I bumped into you in that toilet. Louis, I don’t think this is about me. I think..I think it’s time you forgive  _yourself_.” 

There’s silence for a few long moments, then Louis let’s out a choked sob, and starts to cry. Harry pulls him in, tucking as much as he can around the man as if he can shield him from the world. 

“We were so young. You weren’t even given a chance to love who you wanted.” Louis manages between heaving breaths. 

“And yet I did anyway, didn’t I? You keep talking about how bad I had it but we both know you had it worse. You were being told to stop acting gay before you could even figure out you were yet. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve had so much shit thrown at you and you still make everyone else happy. You make me so happy. Happier than performing, or my favourite food, or anything else.” 

Louis clings onto him, shoulders shaking with his sobs like he’s never let this emotion out. Maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he’s been holding in this false guilt forever. 

“Lou, please stop blaming yourself. I never once have thought it was your fault. I know we’ve been through a lot, but I would do it all again if I can still have you.” 

Louis shakes his head, choking out a laugh between his sobs. 

“Too cheesy?” He asks, smiling into Louis’ hair. 

“So bad.” The elder croaks, cold fingers tucking into Harry’s neckline, chasing the warmth. 

“Well it’s true. You have to forgive yourself. I can’t—I can’t live without you.” 

“It’s not so simple..”

“Except it is. Imagine if the roles were reversed. Imagine you’re me and I did everything you’ve done. You beg me to come home but I just leave for months at a time on some guilt trip over something you forgave me for five years ago.” 

Louis lifts his head from his chest and wipes at his eyes. 

“You make it sound silly.” 

“Because it is! That’s exactly what you’re doing. The only thing killing us is not being together. It kills me, Louis, it kills me every time we’re apart. I can’t even fucking think.” He runs a hand through his hair, starting to get coated as the snow picks up a smidge. 

“I’m sorry. I dont know what to do.” 

“Come home.” Reaching out, he takes Louis’ hand, leaning in to brush their lips together. Louis’ eyes slipped closed, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I don’t want to mess up again.” 

“Then come home.” He murmurs, kissing him softly. He tastes like nicotine and home. 

When he pulls away, Louis’ eyes are big and sad and he looks so much like he did when they were 16 and 18, terrified after their first kiss because of what it meant. Then, he’d just smiled and said it didn’t have to be a serious thing (it was) and that they didn’t have to do it again (they did). 

Now, he swipes Louis’ tears away and backs away from him. 

“Just think about it, okay?” He keeps their eyes connected as he backs inside, shutting the door. He watches Louis turn back to the railing and light his second cigarette with shaky fingers. 

Walking away, he makes it all the way to the bedroom before he starts to cry, himself. He said everything he could think to say, but he doesn’t have hope. He knows Louis is going to leave tomorrow. Could see it in his eyes. Sure, maybe he’ll think about it, but his mind won’t change. He’s so dead set on thinking he’s going to hurt Harry that he doesn’t realise how badly he’s hurting him now. 

It’s over. It’s going to be over, and despite having days notice in advancement, he still isn’t ready for it. 

Doesn’t think he ever could be. 

-

’ _guess i know what i already knew. i was better with you, and i miss you now’~_

-L-

The alarm has been silenced for an hour, but Louis doesn’t dare wake him. 

He lies on his side, watching Harry sleep like some fucking creep, but he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop because he knows when Harry wakes up and hears the other boys packing up, he’ll start doing it to, and then they’ll be gone. 

So he watches the occasional nose twitch and his soft breathing and tries not to break down and cry even more than he had yesterday. 

It was a tad embarrassing, but it’s definitely not the worst Harry has seen him at. He’s never been more vulnerable with anyone else in his life. Has never wanted to badly to just give in and have him forever. 

He knows it would be selfish to go home. Harry just doesn’t realise how much better off he would be if he just had the time to get over him. 

Taken from his thoughts, his heart skips as Harry sniffles and starts to wake up. He’s helpless, reaching for his face, gently swiping his fingers over his cheek.

Harry’s smiling before his eyes even open. When they do, they reveal the most beautiful green of all time. It still makes him breathless, those eyes. 

“What a stupid lamb.” Harry mumbles, voice three octaves deeper in the mornings. Louis raises an eyebrow, and it takes him a good minute to get the reference. He smiles when he does, leaning in to kiss his forehead. 

“Me watching you sleep does not give me mind-reading abilities, sadly.” 

Harry grins, scooting in closer as if there’s no plans today. As if they both can’t hear the boys packing their cars and talking about which flights they’re taking. 

“Too bad, you’d be able to hear just how badly I don’t want to get out of this bed.” 

“Don’t need to read your mind to know that.” Louis says, and then it’s sad. Harry doesn’t look away for even a second, legs tangled with his, eyes pleading so hard for Louis to stay. 

He has to get up before he decides to just do it. 

“What if you came home as..as friends? Friends who live together.” 

“When has trying to be just friends  _ever_ worked for us, Harold? We go one day without touching and you start to break shit.” 

“That mirror was completely unrelated.” Harry sighs dramatically. They both just grin at each other for a few blissful seconds, before they hear Niall downstairs ask if he should come wake them. 

“Time to go.” Louis murmurs, and it takes all of his strength to pull their legs apart, their hands, their everything. Harry’s frowning the entire time they pack up, looking on the verge of tears. It doesn’t take them long, as they both didn’t bring much apart from clothing and necessities. 

“Got everything?” He asks, checking to make sure it’s his own flight ticket he has. Harry had driven here, but said he wanted to fly back to London rather than drive. Didn’t want to be behind the wheel while ‘emotionally unstable’. 

Harry looks around the empty room with sad eyes and a nod. Louis takes a breath, hand moving to open the door, but then Harry pulls him back by his shouldered bag. 

“Wha—!” Louis trips, falling right into Harry’s arms as if he’s some smooth fucker or something and not the guy who tripped over nothing probably twice every gig. 

“Just one more.” The boy says, might as well be dipping him, and presses their lips together. Louis savours it, clutching him as he’s a bit suspended, only held up by Harry. Like some funny metaphor or something. Being swept off his feet or whatever. 

Then he’s being placed back onto his own two feet. He blinks in surprise, stumbling a bit with the quick changes. He looks back to see Harry’s smirking a bit. 

“Cheeky.” He says, but can’t help how breathily the word leaves him, can only turn and leave the room before he’s given time to be embarrassed about it. 

Downstairs, everyone’s already hugging and shit, promising to meet up soon again, double checking and triple checking that their saved numbers are correct. The two of them join the fray, hugs spreading around like wildfire, the noise level quite high as they step out into the front where the cars are parked. 

Ironically, Zayn leaves first, then Niall, and Liam sits in his car fiddling with music or something, and then it’s the two of them. 

“Why Australia?” Harry asks, breaking their sad staring. Louis crosses his arms with a chuckle, shrugging. 

“Summer there right now. Can get a nice tan.” He replies, watching how Harry’s tongue darts out to moisten his lips. He remembers  _Golden_ and considers the option to tease him. 

He doesn’t, instead thinking about why he actually chose to run to Australia. Because it’s the furthest he can go. A whole different world, almost. He can only hope it can distract him enough to keep him away from here. This country that holds his heart in more ways than one. 

“I love you.” Harry says, and then his eyes are welling up, and Louis’ pulling him in for a hug, holding him as tight as he comfortably can. 

“I love you too. Please don’t cry.” 

“I’m not. Just..the cold.” He excuses lamely. 

Louis smiles and pulls away hours before he really wants to. Days. Years. Neither of them want to turn away and leave. He knows he will have to first, but Harry’s all pink nose and deep frown, blinking over and over to try not to cry. 

He reaches up and touches his thumb to the boy’s cheek, right where his dimples appear if he smiles. 

“Don’t want to remember you like this. Just..give me a smile, love.” He pleads, and Harry tries to, but it just comes across wobbly, eyebrows still downcast. Louis pouts and lifts up onto his tip toes, kissing his cheek, then his other, his nose, his temple, until Harry’s giggling and clutching his wrist. 

He pulls away and removes his thumb, finding those adorable dimples in full blast. His favourite boy. His favourite smile. 

“It’s not goodbye forever.” He promises.

“I know.” 

“So I’m not saying goodbye. I’ll..see you next time?” 

“Okay. See you next time.” Harry agrees, maintaining his smile for him. It’s sweet. Louis turns and walks the three metres to his car, and only turns back twice to see Harry’s still just standing there as if he’ll change his mind. 

He opens the driver’s door, tossing in his duffel, looking back a third time. Harry stops sniffling and throws his smile back on. 

“You know where to find me, if..” he doesn’t finish, but Louis knows. He knows which doorstep he can fall back on if he can’t do it. 

With one more once over of him, Louis climbs into the car and pulls out of the park, snow squelching under his tires. He did what he said he would. He spent a whole week with him, and this time he’s leaving differently. He’s leaving on a relatively high note. He’s leaving with Harry’s dimpled smile fresh in his mind. 

Even after all of it, he doesn’t feel differently than he did every other time he left. Snuck out post-sex before Harry can wake up or before he can get sober enough to stay. Every circumstance here is different, and yet he feels exactly the same as he drives down that winding snow covered road. 

With every mile put between them, the hole in his heart grows. 

-

Australia is beautiful. The sun is definitely welcome after a week in the mountains. The people are smiling, the beaches are breathtaking. He’s staying in the nicest fucking hotel he could possibly get in the whole country. 

And yet, nothing can distract him enough. 

He’s been through this before, so he knows the first few days are the hardest, with Harry’s voice and his taste and his everything still painfully fresh in his mind, but it’s worse this time. Usually, he’d have spent their time together so pissed that he wakes up with bits and pieces. 

This time, he has every minuscule moment of the week at the cabin. Can’t stop remembering how it felt to fall asleep in each other’s arms. Can’t stop remembering how Harry begged him to stay. The way he laughed. 

That’s the worst part. Remembering the happy parts. Usually, it’s just drunken sex. Harry’s sad eyes and frown the entire time, because he always knew how it was going to end. It was always a reminder why Louis can’t come back. Always the reason he was able to stay away so long every time, because he could remember Harry’s sad eyes and his plea to stop doing it. 

He can’t help but wonder if maybe now Harry wasn’t asking him to stop coming back. Maybe he was asking him to stop leaving. Asking him to stop drinking. 

Louis stands up from the sand and walks away from the pretty beach. With nothing able to distract himself from Harry, he may as well use his time to work. 

-

Working isn’t as easy without his muse. 

It’s corny, and definitely something he’d never say out loud in a million years, but it’s true. Harry’s pretty much always his inspiration to write. Hell, one sober week with him and he pumped out a full album. 

Now, alone in Australia sat at some nice ass hotel’s piano, he can’t work on that album. He tries to figure out melodies for the songs he hasn’t yet. He tries to change the music for the ones he has. He tries to perfect the lyrics and even attempt to make them more subtle. 

Yet, he opens his notepad and sees where he’d written ‘I <3 HARRYS DICK’ that day he showed him the song, and can’t help his stupid smile as he remembers Harry’s laugh when he’d read it. His big cackle that he’s never had control over. The kind he can’t fake. 

Closing his notepad, he escapes to his room to watch telly or just do something that can’t remind him of anything. 

Three days in, he’d expect to be able to sleep by now. He usually is. 

He can’t right now. Maybe it’s because laying in the bed he’s missing curls getting stuck in his mouth and long limbs clinging to him like a koala. 

Usually it takes him a week or two to give in, but he pulls his phone out and finally takes it out of do not disturb mode. 

Out of all the notifications, only one text is from Harry. 

’ _you okay?_ ’ 

He’d sent it the day before. Louis doesn’t have to search online to know there were probably pictures posted of himself at the airport or god knows where. He’s sure in those photos he looked proper mopey, as well. 

He checks Twitter, next. Doesn’t bother looking at anything else and just types in Harry’s handle, seeing if he’s tweeted. 

There’s two. One is a promo for his upcoming tour in January. The next was sent from his phone at 4am his time yesterday morning. 

’ _come home’_

He clicks on it and finds the replies are mostly jumbles of nothing, song lyrics, or trying to analyse what it means like some sort of conspiracy. 

Louis smiles and hits reply, but his fingers pause over the keyboard. He hasn’t been able to send a regular tweet to Harry in so many fucking years. His last one that management approved was a birthday wish probably three years before or something. Despite being unsigned from syco, he still can’t help the weird feeling he gets when he wants to reply. 

Always remembers their warnings of “dropped sales” or “hate Harry will receive”. They’d known exactly how to push his buttons to scare him into doing whatever they wanted. 

Still, he doesn’t want to text him. Knows it will end in a call, most likely, and he just can’t hear his voice right now. 

So, he taps at his keyboard and presses send before he can change his mind. Then, he immediately turns his phone off because he knows it’s going to blow up, and rolls over to sleep. 

_ ‘@Harry_Styles I can’t.’ _

-

He’s nearly forgotten about the tweet the next morning, until he picks up his phone after brushing his teeth and finds it’s powered off. Sitting at the edge of the bed, he turns it back on. For a second, it’s just fine, and then the notifications start pouring in. Texts and calls from not just his team, but the boys, from Lottie. Nothing from Harry, so he clicks out of that, ignores the emails too, and goes back to Twitter. 

His entire following seemed to have replied to him, but he just heads right for Harry’s page again, to see if he did. 

_ ’@Louis_Tomlinson come home anyway’ it says.  _

Louis huffs a laughs, curling into a bit of a ball like some teenage girl, reading through the comments that seem to be nothing but blue and green hearts. He’s replying before he even thinks about doing otherwise. 

_ ’@Harry_Styles weather’s great here, not sure I want to go back to the shitty cold.’  _

He wants to make it a little more lighthearted. He didn’t need to check, but he does anyway, and finds they’re trending. It warms his heart. It’s not coming out or anything, but it’s definitely big. Incredibly big, for such a small gesture that sending a tweet is. They might break the app. He’s reading through all of the sweet supporting replies when Harry tweets him. Louis looks at the time with a frown. It must be midnight or so in London and Harry’s on Twitter. Not that it’s outlandishly late, but he knows the guy will probably wake up early so he needs sleep. 

_ ’@Louis_Tomlinson I have your big MU blanket here. Nice and toasty’ _

Louis grins, pulling his own duvet over himself as if it’s cold here too. 

_ ’@Harry_Styles you say ‘mine’ but we both know who’s used it more.’ _

Harry tweets back nearly instantly, like he’s laying there waiting, just like he is. 

_ ’@Louis_Tomlinson only because you’re never here.’  _

_’@Harry_Styles I’d be around more if my side of the bed wasn’t cursed to be in the negatives every night_.’ 

It changes it. Sure, they’ve mentioned home and shared blankets, but shared beds? He might as well tweet and ask him what day he wants to get married on. Harry could probably save it, make up something about how he needs to stop sharing a bed with his dog or something. He doesn’t. 

_ ’@Louis_Tomlinson as if you don’t end up laying on me anyway. Your side of the bed is basically decoration.’  _

Louis laughs, a bit panicked. His phone is endlessly buzzing with texts and shit, but he ignores it, so damn caught up in this. 

_ ’@Harry_Styles you love when I lay on you.’ _

_ ’@Louis_Tomlinson I do.’  _

He thought it would feel like some huge bomb, but it kind of doesn’t. It just feels really good. The fans are having an actual meltdown, and Louis is smiling so much his cheeks hurt. They know. The tweets are hardly platonic. He wonders how Harry is reacting. If he’s freaking out or wishing Louis didn’t say anything.

It’s probably a dumb idea, but instead of just laying there wondering, he FaceTimes him. 

Harry’s actually bundled up in the blanket when he answers, just the light of his phone on his sleepy face, everything else dark. 

“Thought it was a butt dial.” He says. Louis takes a breath at the sound of his voice. It makes him ache all over. 

“Wanted to make sure you’re okay with that.” 

“What? Telling millions I enjoy you laying on me? Definitely okay.” Harry’s just smiling, dimples digging in his cheeks. Louis chuckles, taking a screenshot. 

“I didn’t plan it or anything. I guess I just stopped caring if they knew..”

“But it doesn’t change anything, right?” Harry seems to hear the ‘but’ he didn’t say anyway, but he doesn’t look terribly annoyed. He must’ve expected it. Always knows what Louis’ thinking. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I want to come home. I just don’t want to..I dunno.” 

“Neither do I, but I get it. I’ll be here if you can’t stay away. Hey, I’m proud of you.” 

“It’s not just me.” 

“I don’t think there’s an ounce of surprise on my part, Lou.” Harry huffs a laugh, then starts to scrub at his eye. 

“It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be, really. Hey, shouldn’t you sleep? Isn’t it like one there?”

“Closer to two, really.” 

“Go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Harry doesn’t hang up. Louis doesn’t either, to be fair. 

“I’m proud of you too. It was never a big thing for you. You just accepted it and kept going even with the shit people said. I remember the first time you ran with a flag across the stage how many comments you got.” 

“I just looked at the good ones, instead, because that’s what the majority of it was. Besides, I could barely focus on the comments when you spent all night showing just how proud of me you were. Wish you were here so I could return the favour.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows, mumbling a bit with how sleepy he is. Louis grins at the memory, remembering that night fondly. 

“Go to sleep, H.” 

“Mmk. Love you.” He says, eyes barely open. 

“Love you too.” Louis murmurs, and takes another screenshot before he hangs up, loving how it makes Harry smile. 

When the call is over, he immediately realises he shouldn’t have made it. Now he’s flopped back in a nice hotel across the whole fucking world while Harry falls asleep alone, wrapped in Louis’ blanket and probably sad. Ugh. 

His fingers itch for his phone, knowing he could easily catch a flight over. Could be there in enough time to see him to bed tomorrow night. Then, he immediately thinks to drink. To forget about it, though he knows it never works. 

He likes to think that getting pissed helps him forget, when really all it does is take away the part of him that keeps himself away. It just gives him the aid to fly back and end up back on his doorstep. 

He has to do better this time. He can’t give in, not to alcohol nor to Harry’s begging eyes. He knows it will be better in the end. He knows Harry is better off without him. 

_ ‘I forgive you’  _

Harry’s sweet words seep into his head. He closes his eyes as he remembers that conversation out on the cold deck. Harry had told him he’d apparently forgiven him years before. That he trusts him. That Louis is the only one who hasn’t forgiven himself. 

To be completely frank, he actually didn’t think Harry’d forgiven him. It was like a slap to the face. Like probably the biggest reason he knew he had to stay away, because he couldn’t break his trust again. Couldn’t think of a single reason Harry could have forgiven him, let alone trust him again. 

But he said he did, and Harry’s not a liar. 

As if his turmoil can be heard from miles away, his phone rings. Sitting up, he smiles at the caller ID, holding his phone to his ear tenderly, clutching a pillow to his chest. 

“Hi, Anne. Isn’t it really late there?” 

“Yes, but I just saw your tweets, and had to call to say how proud I am.” She murmurs into the phone, sounding like she’s being quiet so she doesn’t wake anyone else. Louis smiles, warmth filling his heart. 

“It’s not a big deal, really.” 

“Except it is. After everything you’ve been through, you still put it out there for everyone to see. You’re being true to yourself. We’re all so proud of you.” She sounds like she’s smiling, and that makes Louis feel happy all over. 

“Do you think..do you think I’d be a shit person if I went home?” He finally asks in a whisper, holding his breath for an answer. He’s called Anne many many times in the last handful of years, and despite telling her everything he did to Harry, she continues to love him and give him advice. She continues to talk him through his rough patches, and she never tries to make him lean a certain way. Of course, she raised Harry into the person he is. Of course she’s incredible. 

“No, love. I think it would really make you happy.” 

“But Harry—“

“It would make Harry happy as well, you know it would. That boy looks at you like you’ve hung up the sun yourself.” 

“I know. I don’t deserve it. I’ve hurt him so much.” He clutches the pillow as tight as he can to his chest, squeezing his eyes to fight off the emotions waving over him. It won’t work. It never does, with Anne. It must be a mother thing, because she pulls it out of him so easily as if she felt them across the world. 

“You hurt too, Louis. You deserve to be happy. I’m willing to bet that the only thing that still hurts Harry right now is being away from you.” Her words are nearly exactly what Harry had said himself at the cabin. Louis makes a pathetic whimper and starts to cry. 

“I’m sorry I keep hurting him, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay, baby. Harry’s a strong boy, he understands, even if he doesn’t agree. No matter how many mistakes you make, he will keep loving you and so will I. If you keep thinking you will hurt him, then you will. You have to trust yourself. Would you choose to hurt him?”

“N-no, but..”

“That’s it. There is no but. If you choose not to hurt him, then you won’t. You have to trust yourself, too.” 

Louis takes a shaky breath, wiping at his eyes. He hates crying with a passion, but it’s necessary sometimes. Bottling it up just comes back to fuck him later on. 

“So I should go home?”

“I can’t make that decision for you. You have to figure out if you want to keep going with what’s happening, or if you want to forgive yourself and mend it.” His favourite thing about Anne is how lovingly open she is. She never hated him. She never cussed him out and deleted his number. After his mum passed, she took him in at his worst. She called him rain or shine everyday, even when he wanted to do anything but talk. She never forced him to say anything, she just spoke softly to him for however long they had. 

Louis never realised just how much help those calls were in his grieving process. 

“Thank you. For everything. Not just today, I mean. Everything.” 

“Of course, Lou. I should go to sleep now, alright? I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Louis says, and doesn’t pull his phone from his ear until he hears the call end. He takes a good few deep breaths, torn. 

After half an hour of thinking, he decides that before he makes any choices, he’s going to need a cuppa. 

-

-H-

Harry’s really fucking tired. 

He knows he was meant to sleep last night, but he definitely doesn’t regret that FaceTime. Louis seemed content with being out. Of course, the media reaction was incredibly loud. Harry could barely get into the building for his tour meeting. 

He’s supposed to be looking at fabric and colour swatches for his show outfits, and for the promotional shoots, and he’s supposed to be figuring out the exact setlist and helping choose opening acts. 

He’s distracted, to say the least, and everyone seems to notice it. The meeting lets out early, probably because of him, and Harry’s immediately off to do a bit of shopping. Can only hope he doesn’t get recognised too harshly. 

Outside of Tesco, there’s paps waiting along with a group of fans. Harry chucks his shopping in the boot and steps up to the fans, definitely ignoring the paps who, while keeping a distance, ask nothing but questions about Louis. About him and Louis. About why Louis isn’t here. LouisLouisLouis. 

“Are you okay?” One of the fans ask, handing him a phone to sign the back of. Harry smiles, diverting his attention away from the paps. He can be fine for the fans. Can always be fine for them. 

“Yeah, I’m alright. How’re you?” 

“We’re—I mean, we’re all just really proud of you. You both.” 

Harry looks at her in surprise, and then looks to the faces of the rest of the group. They’re all smiling really big. Something warm swirls in his chest. Somehow he’d forgotten about this part. The part where everyone knows now. He thinks of all the times he and Louis had to do their shitty “denials” and feels guilty. He hates lying to them, and now that he doesn’t have to, a weight has been lifted. 

“Thanks, guys, really.” He takes his time, signing everything and taking photos with each of them. He’s smiling by the time he actually gets into his car, and he doesn’t even hear the paps yelling anymore. 

-

Back home, he puts together some food and sits at the couch to write a bit, scrolling through the fabric swatches for the tour outfits. Five minutes in, he’s got his phone up and he’s looking at their tweets from last night and smiling like a loon. It may take more time than he’d anticipated to not be so distracted all the time. 

Maybe he’s just exhausted. Lying down, he pulls the throw blanket over himself and clicks on the telly for some background noise. A little nap never killed anybody. 

-

Fingers stroking over his cheek lulls him awake. He opens his eyes to find his favourite person in the world. At first, Harry thinks he’s dreaming, and then he very suddenly realises he isn’t. Immediately, he moves to sit up, eyes widening. 

“Don’t freak out.” Louis murmurs, an arm over his waist to keep him laying down. Harry’s immediately touching him, clutching the low scoop of his jumper, other hand on his arm, heart racing. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, despite the fact that he doesn’t look like it. He looks tired, if anything. It’s a 21 hour flight from Australia, so he might just be jet lagged. Harry can’t look away. They’ve been apart for four days, and yet it’s felt like forever. 

“No.”

“Are you..high?”

“No.” Louis starts to smile. 

“Am I dreaming?” 

“No, Harry.” Then he leans in to kiss him, prove he actually is here. Harry pulls him closer, making a probably embarrassingly desperate noise. 

“Are you—“ he stops, unable to get the words out. It feels impossible, the chance that Louis is coming home. For good. He can’t ask, because then he has hope. 

Louis chews on his lip, and instead of answering, he reaches for Harry’s neck. He’s confused for a moment, when he realises the man is pulling his necklace out. His heart skips as Louis unclasps the chain, and the engagement ring settles into his palm. 

“If you’ll have me.” Louis says, eyebrows furrowing like he’s nervous. He’s said it before, when he’d proposed. As if Harry would have literally anyone else in the whole universe. 

He offers up his hand, and watches Louis slide it into place, where it belongs. 

“Lou, are you sure? I mean—god,” he chokes up a bit, and Louis just laughs, touching a kiss to the ring on his finger. 

“Definitely sure. Forever, yeah?” He seems emotional too, his pretty blue eyes welling up. Harry reaches for him and pulls him onto the couch gleefully. Louis fits perfectly between him and the back cushions. They tangle together just right, as they always have. 

“What made you change your mind?” He asks, peppering kisses on his neck. Louis chuckles, a bit ticklish. 

“I stopped being a fuckin’ idiot, that’s what changed. You were right, about everything. God, I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you again—“

“You can hurt me a little, if you’d like.” Harry offers up, and nips at Louis’ delicious collarbone so he knows what he’s referencing. The elder huffs a laugh, pulling at a strand of curls so he’ll lean away. Harry does with a pout. Their eyes meet, and Louis offers a smile, eyes crinkling. 

“Seriously, H. I’m sorry. I should’ve just listened at the cabin. I mean, I still feel like I’m not what you deserve, but I know you disagree, and I don’t want to be the person who doesn’t give you want you want.” 

“I want you. More than anything.” Harry says, touching his hand to Louis’ chest. The ring glistens in the lights of the living room. He missed it on his finger, can’t believe it’s back on him. 

“So you have me, and I have you.” He finally agrees. They share a kiss, and Harry feels breathless, like he might just grow wings and fly. 

“Forever.” He repeats Louis’ words, and they lie there together. So in love, neither with a single doubt. They cuddle on the couch for a long time, talking about everything and anything in between, crying a bit, planning the next step. 

Three months later, Harry tweets a photo of his ringed hand, sat on Louis’ bare chest over his tattoo. An official announcement that they’re together. An actual coming out. The date for the wedding set, they’re ecstatic. Louis’ excited for weeks, and finalises his album almost immediately. 

The tweet breaks the record for most retweets by 2 million, sitting at 6.4 million retweets, only 24 hours after it’s sent. Despite expecting hate, and expecting heckling, the fans rise to the occasion, and both of their tours go sold out within days. 

It’s safe to say, the support is immeasurable. Their happiness, even more so. 

-

’ _you’re the habit that i can’t break. you’re the feeling that i can’t put down. you’re the shiver that i can’t shake. you’re the habit that i can’t break. you’re the high that i need right now._

_you’re the habit that i can’t break._ ’

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading guys 🥺
> 
> Pls read the top note if you skipped it, and lemme know your song requests in the comments! 💙💚


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